Lloyd Evans

It’s all over, folks. This is absolutely the last time you’ll ever see Theresa May live in concert. Until the next time. May has become a bankrupt rock-star taking her tired old hits out on the road yet again. This week’s futile tour includes Belfast, Dublin and Brussels. Futile because the EU won’t grant any concessions until the dying hours of March 29th. So the PM might as well enjoy the scenery, the food and the wine if there’s any left after Jean-Claude Juncker has been served. Meanwhile a muted house met in her absence. The increasingly bizarre speaker, John Bercow, introduced May’s replacement, David Lidington, with the following: ‘The Rt Hon gentleman is a notable celebrity not only in Aylesbury but here in this house’.

Bit of a different day at PMQs. There wasn’t a peep from Remain Corner where Anna Soubry, Nicky Morgan and Sarah Woollaston like to hold court. Perhaps they’re all re-training as Uber-drivers in case a snap-election renders them jobless. And we heard nothing from the Labour party’s Bullingdon Club of Brexit-saboteurs, Yvette Cooper, Stephen Kinnock and Chuka Umunna. Thank goodness Ken Clarke spared us his usual parrot-recital about suspending Article 50. And the ‘people’s vote’ wasn’t mentioned at all. Instead Labour’s C-listers had their turn. Jack Dromey, a gifted nihilist, wore a bright summery jacket which contrasted sharply with the dire news he recited from his sat-nav.

History will remember Sir James Dyson as the pioneer of the bagless vacuum-cleaner. Thanks to his genius, we are now able to interrupt our chores and stare in amazement at mini-tornados of dust and filth swirling around in a transparent cylinder. This void of rubbish has been exported all over the world – not unlike our parliamentary system. But its knighted creator made an error this week when he announced that Singapore is to be the new home of his world HQ. This looks like an endorsement of the EU which has just struck a trade-deal with Singapore. The Bagless Wonder is supposed be a Brexiteer. Tory backbencher James Gray leapt to his defence. The suavely-dressed and sad-voiced MP reminded the house that Sir James has splurged cash all over the place.

It looked exciting on paper. A massive defeat for the government. Their flagship policy not just sunk but blown to smithereens. And a Prime Minister facing a no-confidence motion for the first time since Sunny Jim Callaghan was unseated in 1979 by Margaret Thatcher. And yet PMQs lacked sparkle. The mood was footsore, hungover, whimpering with fatigue. A historic day felt entirely unhistoric. Everyone wanted a break. May, her throat hoarse, looked knackered and bored, like Mick Jagger at the fag-end of a world tour. She gasped out some of her answers without grammatical ornaments. When Robert Goodwill sought her congratulations for a Scarborough firm that flogs fertiliser to China, she managed this: ‘Driving exports, driving investments, good for the north.

PMQs began with tributes to the late Paddy Ashdown. The philandering man-of-action was the closest thing the Liberal Democrats ever got to James Bond. And though he was often ridiculed by MPs as a self-important windbag, today they hailed him as one of the greats. In this respect the House truly reflected the people. Death brings out the hypocrite in all of us. May offered a few respectful words. The Lib Dems were represented by the weirdly pompous Sir Edward Davey whose knighthood has swollen his head without affecting the capacity of his brain. At least his tribute seemed genuinely heartfelt. The most sincere effort came from Jeremy Corbyn.

It starts with a balding weirdo locked in a cupboard ranting about mythological abstractions. This is Dominic Cummings, the key figure in Channel 4’s Brexit film, The Uncivil War, and the opening scene is designed to overcome a major hurdle. How to make the audience – half of whom loathe Brexit – feel sympathy for the man credited with making it happen. Trapping him in a neon-lit cell with only his thoughts for company turns him into a tormented martyr. Next we see him being sized up as a potential director of the Leave campaign. Deep in his guts he loathes politicians – and the entire Westminster establishment – especially David Cameron and his communications chief, Craig Oliver.

Bad 24 hours for Mrs May. A last-minute Christmas shopping-trip to Europe yielded no bargains whatever, even though she had £39bn to splurge on an extension to her premiership. Back home she found a conspiracy of seditious Tories baying for her resignation. The Queen of Narnia is a masochist. She finds punishment stimulating, and perhaps slightly addictive, so she showed up at PMQs looking calm and expectant. Her mood was buttressed by certainty. This evening her fate will be decided. All she has to lose is everything, but the result is out of her hands. This probably settled her nerves. ‘Brazen it out’, was her only tactic today.

As their time draws near, doomed leaders like to have a final go on the train-set. Mrs May entered this state of self-absorbed hyperactivity about a week ago when she started to push and yank at all the levers of power in Downing Street. Honours were handed out. Jets were commissioned to zoom her between various provincial capitals. TV stations were ordered to suspend their Sunday schedules and to prepare for a stage-managed debate starring Mrs May. Her hope is to mobilise support for the chit of paper she recently received from Brussels in return for £39bn. Never was chit more dearly purchased. At PMQs we got a foretaste of the TV spectacular in which Mrs May hopes to vaporise Jeremy Corbyn. But unforeseen circumstances have raced to Mr Corbyn’s assistance.