Oliver Dowden’s reputation precedes him. You’d have thought there would be at least a niche appeal in watching the deputy prime minister die on his feet. The inadequate’s inadequate at work. If you can call it that. But we’ve actually gone well past that point. There were even fewer Tory backbenchers in the Commons for Oliver’s latest outing for prime minister’s questions than there had been last week. And the sprinkling of cabinet ministers all looked as if they were there under duress. Their faces locked in a rictus of pain. The chronicle of their own deaths foretold. This PMQs must surely be about as bad as it can get for Olly. Even if his material was better, he just can’t do it. The 1980s holiday camp entertainer being mercilessly ripped apart by an audience that’s bored out of its mind. Bloodsports are less cruel than leaving Dowden to fend for himself for half an hour. Long before the end, even his own MPs were going for him. They just couldn’t help themselves. This was group therapy turning into Lord of the Flies. It started badly for Dowden when Angela Rayner observed that the last time a prime minister had missed two PMQs in a row – this week Rishi Sunak is in Lithuania: who knows where he will be next Wednesday? – was in 1996. So she was going to ask the same question that John Prescott had then put to Michael Heseltine. A kind of homage. Why in Tory Britain were tens of thousands of people facing negative equity, repossessions and homelessness? Olly didn’t have a clue where to start. Instead, he tried to blag his way through. You couldn’t trust any statistics. They were all pointless. Why couldn’t Labour concentrate on all the people who were perfectly happy to be broke and didn’t like where they were living anyway? The Tories were giving all of them a chance to move without even needing to sell their house. Because they would no longer own it. Brilliant.
Everything was absolutely great, Dowden insisted. Repeatedly. Children were queueing up to give thanks to the Tories. People had never been so rich. He made poverty sound like a lifestyle choice. And at the end of each answer he turned to the front of his red folder to read out a scripted gag written out on a Post-it note. Tree huggers hugging the magic money tree? Boom boom! That bad. No one on the Conservative benches knew quite where to look. The thought occurred that Sunak must be quite the sadist to put Olly through this so regularly. Then, maybe we knew that already. Sunak expects a level of sacrifice from the rest of us that he’s never in danger of having to make himself. Still, Dowden had done his duty. What he was paid for. He had made Rish! look good. Tories will be desperate to see him at next week’s PMQs. If he bothers to turn up. While Dowden was falling on his sword, Simon Case was hastily trying to rewrite his own CV. Almost certainly far too late in the day, but you have to give him credit for trying. The cabinet secretary and head of the civil service can see which way the wind is blowing. He knows the Tories are likely to be toast at the next election, so his new pitch is to sell himself to Labour as someone they can do business with. A caring, sharing Mr Nice Guy. Not the man who turned out to be the Tories’ best mate. That’s not the image anyone wants these days. Apart from Nadine Dorries. She has just announced she is writing a book about the tragedy of Boris Johnson’s downfall. It won’t be a long read. She’s the last true believer. A meeting of the public administration and constitutional affairs committee was the first chance Case had had to try out his new persona. The committee chair, William Wragg, got things started by asking about Sue Gray’s appointment as Labour’s chief of staff. Had he ever had any concerns that there might have been a conflict of interest? Was it normal for a permanent secretary to move to a political role so soon? “Mmmmmmmrrrrrrggggggggggaaaaaa,” said Case. He’s a dreadful mumbler. Almost as if he’s unwilling to commit himself to anything in public. No wonder the civil service often seems so confused about what it’s meant to be doing. They can’t understand a word he’s saying. Still. It could explain why there were so many parties in No 10 during lockdown under his watch. People kept asking him if it was OK and he would keep telling them ‘“Mmmmmmmrrrrrrggggggggggaaaaaa”. It turned out, by a process of deduction, that what Si really wanted to say was that Gray was as clean as a whistle. He’d never had a moment’s doubt about her. She was the model professional all the way. Had done everything by the civil service book. Yes, some ministers had tried to claim there was a prima facie case against her but he had done everything possible to distance himself from that. The Tories were just out to make trouble. Unable to accept that someone they had imagined to be one of theirs should have gone to Labour. Personally, he was shocked that anyone could have treated Sue in this way. All of which was a bit strange. Because Case was sounding as if Gray was one of his best mates. When as far as everyone knew he had always disliked her. Had done his best to block her promotion. Still, better a sinner that repenteth and all that. And given that he hoped to be working with Sue after the next election … Mmm, perhaps not. “Mmmmmmmrrrrrrggggggggggaaaaaa.” The session moved on to Boris Johnson’s resignation honours list. It had been nothing to do with Si. He knew nothing about anything. Lebedev had been before his time and he’d never dream of getting involved with something so messy. No, he hadn’t watched the Channel 4 Dispatches programme. He made a point of never watching any programmes that could possibly be of interest to him. He couldn’t comment on Dorries’ abuse of the system. Had never heard of her. Lucky him. John McDonnell hoped that Darren Tierney, the director general of the Cabinet Office propriety and constitution group (the job title used to be propriety and ethics, but ethics have rather gone out of fashion in government) might be more forthcoming. Had he advised the prime minister on abuse of honours? He had. But he couldn’t say how. Because if he did, he would have to kill us. Imagine, we have a director of propriety who cannot tell anyone if he is doing his job properly. I guess we’d all like a job like that. “Mmmmmmmrrrrrrggggggggggaaaaaa.” Si moved on to the Covid inquiry – he was doing everything he could to help it: couldn’t imagine why anyone would have wanted to cover up his WhatsApps – and then on to a long rant about how misunderstood the civil service was. We’re not a blob, he sobbed. Nice try. But it’s going to take more than that to keep his job. He’ll have better luck in Rishi’s resignation honours. Arise, Lord Case. Depraved New World by John Crace (Guardian Faber, £16.99) is available to pre-order. To support The Guardian and Observer, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.