Madeline Grant

You may recall the cancellation of the Maccabi Tel Aviv-Aston Villa game back in November. What has happened since is that, due to constant scrutiny by Nick Timothy MP, Lord Austin and a small number of journalists, the narrative that West Midlands police spun at the time – that the Israeli fans were too dangerous to host – has slowly been unravelling. The force stands accused of retroactively cobbling together evidence for a ban that was actually rooted in fears about sectarian violence in Birmingham; ‘elements’ of the local community reportedly wished to ‘arm themselves‘ and target visiting fans. So far, so reassuring.

I’ve just come back from a short holiday in Venice. The city is an unsurpassable monument to the glories of the Renaissance, but its streets and waterways also bear witness to the absolute non-existence of 'international rules'. When confronted by Bonaparte's expansionist aims in 1797, the millennium-old Venetian republic responded as it had always done, relying on diplomatic assumptions maintained for centuries. Meanwhile Napoleon, promising to be 'an Attila to the state of Venice', simply invaded, bringing the Serene Republic to an ignominious end. Venetian art and treasures were plundered to fund the French war effort. In a particular humiliation for the city-state, Bonaparte began filling in the canals to resemble Parisian boulevards.

Thank God! Today was the last Prime Minister’s Questions before Christmas and so Sir Keir and Mrs Badenoch began their speeches with seasonal greetings. Was a Christmas truce about to break out? Unlikely; Sir Keir couldn't resist a poke at Reform’s Russian problems. ‘If wise men from the East come bearing gifts, this time report it to the police’ he scoffed. Today, Nigel Farage, Sir Keir's very own Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, loomed down on proceedings from the Commons viewing gallery. Even he chuckled at this opening gag.

The liaison committee is always a laugh. It’s sort of like a year in review for the government’s litany of failures. Like an advent calendar but behind each door there’s a little puddle of cat sick. The specific aim of this particular roundup was ‘the work of the Prime Minister’, and so as a festive treat our very own pig in a blanket was dragged in for an extra big Christmas helping of his least favourite thing in the world – scrutiny. First up was Alberto Costa, appropriately the chair of the Standards Committee, which during this parliament must be like being the person whose job it was to keep the deck dry on the Titanic. Mr.

Benjamin Disraeli once observed that the difference between a misfortune and a calamity was that if Mr Gladstone fell in the Thames it would be a misfortune, but if someone pulled him out it would be a calamity. As the government moves indisputably from being victims of misfortune to being agents of calamity, so we might recycle the quip about Sir Keir Starmer. The Prime Minister today entered his ‘not waving but drowning’ era. And he is, to use the sort of girlboss gibbering signalling which his MPs routinely resort to, slaying it. Today’s Prime Minister’s Questions was, deliciously, one of his worst yet.

‘Nurse! Nurse! He’s out again!’ That’s right, Sir Keir had escaped his handlers and was mingling with the public once more. This time he was ruining the coffee break of some workers at McLaren to talk about apprenticeships. Presumably he takes any opportunity he can to avoid the company of his own MPs at the moment, morale being about the same as it was on HMS Bounty a minute or two before the mutiny. Sir Keir was introduced by Pat McFadden, the cadaverous figure whom Labour trot out when things are going particularly badly. It was like having Nosferatu as your warm-up act. Yet even with this inauspicious intro, Sir Keir still managed to look like the weirder one of the pair.

I am going to shock Spectator readers and say something in praise of the government. There is one area where they are genuinely, consistently impressive, precise even. Received wisdom states that an institution is generally either malign or incompetent. The Starmer ministry time and again hits the absolute sweet spot where it can reasonably be regarded as both by the maximum number of people possible. In the House today we turned to a classic of this genre of cock-up: the cancellation of mayoral elections. As everyone knows, cancelling elections is always a sign of a good and healthy government.

You always know it’s going to be a good PMQs when things start with Ian Lavery. After a winding and angry monologue about things being grim up north – Holden Caulfield meets Ken Loach – Lavery, with supreme comic timing, asked the Prime Minister if there was much to look forward to on the horizon. Doubly funny was that Mr Lavery, a man so aggressive in his basic delivery that he makes an XL Bully look like a maiden aunt, managed to make this sound like a threat. Though, frankly, given the government’s track record it may as well be. Starmer's pomposity came back to bite him as Mrs Badenoch mocked him Up stood Sir Keir for his weekly clucking.

King John placing his seal on Magna Carta 810 years ago is widely held to be a low point for the monarch and a boon for the rest of us. Now all those centuries later his work is about to be undone by none other than David Lammy who arrived in the House today to announce the partial abolition of trial by jury. The Sage of Tottenham makes an unlikely tyrant; his air is of someone who should be losing control of a children’s birthday party somewhere. Yet John wasn’t exactly a man of steel either – though he at least had a sort of animal cunning. We have gone from Lackland to lackwit.