Yet another day in the land of shadows. Where politics goes largely unseen. If not totally unheard. Providing you can read the puffs of smoke. This is the new world order. All the big decisions taken away from the public gaze. All we are left with is a puppet show embedded in interpretive dance. Even in Westminster the show must go on. Take the Tory leadership contest. Now into its second phase with Priti Patel last week consigned to oblivion. Here the blind are leading the blind. There are no more public events in which the gameshow contestants can road-test their policies. Instead we are in the realm of a private hustings for Tory MPs’ eyes only. Except not even the Lucky Five remaining candidates seem to have a clue what is going on. It was only when they turned up shortly before 4pm that they discovered the event was actually starting at 4.15pm and what the format was going to be. The organisers had obviously decided to keep them out the loop. Keep them on their toes. On a need-to-know basis. Or maybe if the 1922 Committee didn’t even know what was going on, there was less chance of the contestants coming prepared. Piss-up and brewery came to mind.
There again, low key seems to be the order of the day. There was a faint buzz of expectation when the Tory leadership contest began. Though possibly this was the last heaving breaths of a dying party. Now reality has resumed. There is no great interest in the Tory party – let alone the rest of the country – in who takes over from Rishi Sunak. Because it’s by and large an irrelevance. A formality to be observed. Someone to shout from the sidelines. It wasn’t always that way. Back when being Tory leader was a big deal – think of the various contests to replace David Cameron, Theresa May, Boris Johnson and Liz Truss – you couldn’t move for Tory MPs and lobby journalists. People would arrive early to get a good seat. Now, just 10 minutes before the start, the committee room was totally empty. By the scheduled start of 4pm, there were barely 10 MPs. A few more turned up in dribs and drabs over the next 20 minutes – clearly disappointed not to have missed the opening credits – but there was no sense of excitement. Most had chosen to have a snooze – opposition is good for that – rather than be bothered to turn up to hear what their next party leader might say. When push comes to shove they just aren’t that interested. Outside the committee room, the five candidates just stood around looking awkward. Tom Tugendhat nervously tried to engage James Cleverly and Kemi Badenoch in desultory conversation, but they proved largely monosyllabic – more interested in their Instagram feeds. Mel Stride just seemed a bit bewildered. Understandably. Even he has finally got round to asking the question everyone else is asking. What is the point of Mel Stride? If the answer is Mel, you’re asking the wrong question. There again, the same could be said of all the Lucky Five. One man stood further apart from the others. Robert Jenrick. Not even pretending to get on with his colleagues. No one is still any the wiser if he’s been secretly rubbishing Kemi to the media or whether Kemi has been rubbishing herself. Both are equally possible. The Tories are that deranged. Somehow or other whoever eventually gets elected has to unite the Conservatives. No one can see exactly how. They all seem to hate each other as much as the country hates them. All this was observed by me and two other journalists. Without us, the Tories wouldn’t even have known they were really there. Call it a public service. At about 4.15pm, sensing there was not going to be a late surge of Tory MPs, the chair of the 1922 Committee summoned the Lucky Five into the room. They still didn’t really have a clue what to expect. There was some polite banging on the desk – more a Pavlovian response than genuine enthusiasm – and then the first question. Why are we here? No one had a clue. Tomorrow the Lucky Five become the Lucky Four. Meanwhile, Labour was going through its own private rituals. First in cabinet, from which it was revealed that there had been “zero dissent on the withdrawal of the winter fuel allowance”. Somehow that was not reassuring. More of a feel of a Stalinist politburo in which everyone is terrified, than an outbreak of warm-hearted consensus.
There was to be no concession. No change. Everyone must be happy. Rictus smiles. All a bit forced. Just like Labour’s hope that everyone would take up pension credit instead. Thereby saving the government precisely nothing. From a cut that was designed to save money. Still, Rachel Reeves did make the token gesture of addressing Labour MPs late in the day. A stroke of largesse from the Ministering Angel of Death. Not that she was there to change her mind. More to let everyone know she wouldn’t. But also to say that she really wanted to do her bit for pensioners. So every speech she made from now on would be accompanied by a phone number for the Samaritans helpline. If you have been affected by any of the issues raised in this sketch call 116 123. Over in the Commons there were a few brief signs of normal political life. But ones that showed the opposition is in even worse shape than previously imagined. It really doesn’t have a clue how to effectively oppose. It’s heard of this thing called an Urgent Question, but has no idea what to do with them. On Monday it was the turn of the shadow health secretary, Victoria Atkins, to make an idiot of herself. She had asked for a UQ on Wes Streeting’s decision to ask the former health secretary Alan Milburn for advice. “Er, hello,” said Wes. Unlike the Tories he wasn’t too proud to ask experts for help. “The health secretary should know what they are doing,” Atkins replied. “I always did.” Cue a major pile-on as Atkins had been a spectacularly poor health secretary. Though not noticeably worse than any of her Tory predecessors. It was an open goal for Streeting, who went on to list the more egregious cases of Tory cronyism. Believe it or not, Atkins reckons she is in with a shout of becoming shadow chancellor if Honest Bob becomes leader. Rachel Reeves’s job just became a whole lot easier.