Madeline Grant

With Sir Keir in Evian busy taking what must surely be his last opportunity to stuff Lady Victoria’s hand luggage with G7 branded bathrobes and slippers, we had the great treat of a Lammy PMQs today. Except it isn’t really a treat any more. This parliament still has, potentially, three whole years to run, and yet it already feels zombified. Each week it goes through the motions, the same lame jokes, the same pointless questions, the same lingering sense of exhaustion and decay. It’s like the end of the French Third Republic but with fewer cigarettes and an even less impressive defence policy. They had the Maginot Line, we have the recycling of Dan Jarvis.

The House of Commons these days is hardly an inspiring place. There can be little denying that it is a shadow of the debating arena it was in the days of Gladstone and Disraeli. It’s not even what it was from the days of Cameron and Corbyn. Sir Keir replied that there was no evidence of two-tier policing, which in this day and age is increasingly like adamantly maintaining that the sky isn’t blue But on days like today, when the news is filled with the appalling reality of the policies cooked up there, it appears even more contemptible and trivial than usual. The banality of evil has never been so banal. The session started with an exchange between Mrs Badenoch and Sir Keir about welfare spending.

After months of back and forth, today the government finally released the latest tranche of the Mandy documents, which have become their own spin-off version of the original incriminating releases – a sort of Holby City to the Epstein Files’ Casualty. There are reams of them and, as some backbenchers pointed out stroppily in the Commons today, the government’s decision to release them late this afternoon hardly made it easy to garner much in time for questions to the Prime Minister’s Chief Secretary, Darren Jones, today. However, a cursory look at the content shows a mixed bag. Doubtless more will be revealed as a fine-tooth comb is applied. Some ‘revelations’ are eminently predictable – what journalists would call a ‘dog bites man’ story.

Today, in what will doubtless be just the first of many irritations inflicted on the unfortunate people of Makerfield, Labour launched their by-election campaign. The latest movement in what already feels like the 118th Brumaire of Andy Burnham.  The location he had chosen for the launch was a patch of irradiated tarmac; the sort of place criminals might take a mini fridge for an unceremonious fly-tipping. A van, parked on a slope, had a digital billboard attached, depicting a bizarre big-headed avatar of Burnham himself. It resembled a Funko Pop doll, the Japanese-inspired bits of plastic for which nerdy teenagers depart with obscene amounts of cash.  Next to the doll face was a plea: ‘Vote Andy for us’.

Has Sir Keir Starmer already checked out? There was a strange atmosphere in the House of Commons today. A sort of calm in the eye of the storm pervaded. The Prime Minister seemed more relaxed than he’d been for ages, perhaps finally resigned to, well, resigning. There are asthmatic sloths which could produce more fulsome cheers than Labour managed in the Commons Maybe he’s preparing himself for his future; as an avuncular guest on The Rest is Politics or on Arsenal fan podcasts? I can see it now, a more relaxed Starmer in an open necked shirt, jokes about being a Gooner, Mandelson forgotten. This is Centrist Dad Valhalla and Keir is at rest.

The Great North summit sounds like it should have been a peace conference attended by Peter the Great. Instead, it is actually a talking shop attended by Andy Burnham. Its logo is, appropriately, an arrow in the act of a U-turn. It was there that Burnham had come today to fire the starting pistol on his campaign to march on London. It happened on the same day that it was announced that Josh Simons had officially resigned the seat of Makerfield, thus paving the way for Burnham’s return. This meant that Burnham spent much of his speech shoehorning references into his speech about places in his would-be constituency while also trying to put forward a national plan for his premiership.

One of the traditions of the state opening of Parliament is that the Yeomen of the Guard search the cellars of the Palace of Westminster for evidence of plots to blow up the government. Frankly they could have looked anywhere in SW1 and found that. Just about the only person who seemed to be enjoying it at all was, bizarrely, Starmer Other traditions were maintained as opposition and government MPs made their awkward shuffle to the Lords. One Labour MP shouted ‘not now Andy’ when Black Rod banged on the chamber’s door. Kemi and Sir Keir looked smiley for the cameras and pretended that they don’t loathe each other. Meanwhile James Cleverley was chatting to Wes Streeting; perhaps exchanging notes on leadership bids.

I wish I’d invested in lecterns back in the day. They have become a fixture of British politics of late, a symbol of the chaos and incompetence that has marked our government for some time. Every time our leaders fall short, the podium is wheeled out and a ‘reset’ or resignation is announced and the whole cycle of malice and incompetence begins again. Good for the lectern producers, exhausting for the rest of us. Starmer’s podium is a white plastic number, a little like an upside-down bathroom bin. It appeared not outside Downing Street but in an anonymous room with some wonky Labour branding in it. Here – in a suitably Wernham Hogg like setting – Starmer was going to ‘make the speech of his political life’ or, we might add, death.

In fairness to Keir Starmer, it took some nerve to turn up and tell deflated Labour candidates what had gone wrong at the local elections when even David Lammy, not a man known for his awareness of his immediate surroundings, had admitted that one of the most regular problems on the doorstep was the Prime Minister himself. Yet this was precisely what he did. Having Keir Starmer turn up to your Labour post apocalyptic pity party is a bit like being hit by a car only for the person who ran you over to come to your funeral and give a lecture on road safety. It would have been reasonable for Starmer to stay blockaded in No. 10, having taken a sizeable number of sausages, sorry, hostages and only communicate via Darren Jones and a megaphone.