It was another night of broken sleep. Fever dreams of Nigel Farage tormented him. That wide crocodile smile. Siren promises to the disaffected. The narcissistic orange glow. Worse, Rishi Sunak had even woken to the man himself being interviewed by Mishal Husain on Radio 4. Would no one rid him of this turbulent fraud? Now Nige sounded irritable. Angry that someone was daring to ask him about policy details: not just blowing smoke up his arse. Rish! forced himself to get out of bed and made a coffee. He checked the news headlines. The latest catastrophic polls predicting a wipeout for the Tories. Still, it wasn’t all bad. Jeremy Hunt and Grant Shapps looked on course to lose their seats. Good. He had never rated them. They were just all that was left in the talent puddle.
Then there had been the latest party political broadcast. Another total fuck-up. What clown had put the union jack the wrong way up? The distress signal. There had been too many Freudian slips for his liking. His ruminations were interrupted by the arrival of Oliver Dowden. Here for the final preparations for the evening’s first televised debate. Olive was supposed to be role-playing Keir Starmer. It hadn’t been going well. Rish! detested Starmer because … because he had the air of a winner. Men like him weren’t meant to succeed. And try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to have any feelings for Dowden. He was just too wet. Too useless. “I have a plan that is working,” he said. “Starmer will take us back to square one.” “You’re so right,” mumbled Olive. “I will take you back to square one.” “You’re not meant to be agreeing with me …” “I’m sorry. I just can’t help being a sycophant.” This wasn’t going well. It was time for a last pep talk from Graham Davies, his motivational media coach. The man who had worked wonders with Kemi Badenoch. Had managed to turn her from the woman whom everyone disliked to the woman whom almost everyone disliked. Result. Graham gave him a reassuring hug. “How are you feeling?” asked Graham. “I have a plan that is working …” said Sunak. “Yes. Quite. But how are you feeling?” “Um …” “I get it. You’re nervous. That’s understandable. But try to reframe it. Look at this as an opportunity. At present no one believes a word you say. This gives you an enormous freedom to say any old crap. You have nothing to lose because nobody is going to vote for you anyway. Especially after Nigel …” “Don’t mention that word.” “Sorry.” Rish! gave a half smile. He was as ready as he would ever be. Time to dig out his extra-short lucky trousers. The Tory spinners were already saying he had won the debate before it had even started. In the spin room situated in the Coronation Street experience – write your own soap opera gags – Victoria Atkins tried to claim that Sunak was “actually very funny”. He keeps it well hidden. Cue … action. The opening credits rolled to reveal a set more suited to a gameshow. Keeping it real. Starmer behind a lectern on the left, Sunak on the right, host Julie Etchingham to one side. First the opening statements that we’ve all heard dozens of times before. Keir saying “change” every other word and reminding everyone that the Tories record over the last 14 years is indefensible. Sunak saying that he has a plan and that it is working. Even he didn’t sound as if he believed it. Cutting taxes by increasing them. Cutting waiting lists by increasing them. Then to the questions. First Paula from Huddersfield on the cost of living. Rish! insisted that he knew the strain people were under: £700m doesn’t go quite as far as it used to. A brief mention of the furlough scheme – the last time the country liked him. A plea for gratitude. Forget Liz Truss, forget your misery. Trust the plan. Labour were going to increase taxes by £2,000 per family. Weirdly, Starmer didn’t refute this figure till much later in the debate, allowing Sunak to repeat it six times. What he did have though was empathy. He understood how hard it was. He also delivered the killer line. If the plan was working why didn’t Sunak delay the election until we could see the benefits. The reality was that things were about to get worse. The next 45 minutes descended into something of a free-for-all, despite Etchingham’s best efforts to maintain control. Good telly, but a crap debate. It was almost inevitable that Tetchy Rishi would make an appearance. It always does when he’s under pressure. Being found out. He started getting snippy, continually talking over Starmer. It was a terrible look. Far better to have turned off Sunak’s microphone for a bit.
We raced through questions on the NHS, education, tax, defence and climate change. Keir got far more of the applause while Rish! died a death as the audience groaned and openly laughed at him. First on health, then on national service. His only tactic was to keep saying that he was the one with the ideas. Even if they were all completely rubbish. Designed to make a one-day headline. Not to be implemented. Heaven forbid. It was something of a relief when it was all over. Performative politics, nothing more. Light entertainment. Sound and fury, signifying nothing. Both sides would say they had won, because that’s what always happens. As far as the studio audience was concerned, Starmer shaded it. But most of the country was probably watching Netflix.