by John Crace
Corbyn didn’t even appear to have clocked that the chancellor had broken an election pledge. Rather, it was a deranged kamikaze attack in which the Labour leader was the only fatality. Still, it was an achievement of sorts. It’s not every day that someone manages to empty the chamber faster than the Undertaker.
Philip Hammond digs deep as he explains his NICs U-turn
15 MARCH 2017
The phone call had come through just after eight in the morning while Phil ‘The Undertaker’ Hammond was eating breakfast. It was the prime minister ordering him to bury Class 4 NICs. He had tried telling her that doing a U-turn on your only real budget measure less than a week after it had been announced made him and the government look hopelessly incompetent, but Theresa wasn’t having any of it. The Tory backbenchers were on her back. The Daily Mail was on her back. And now she was on his back.
Six hours later the Undertaker rather sheepishly arrived in the Commons to try to explain how it was that, though he still absolutely stood by his budget because it was his budget that was his, he now wanted to fundamentally change it because although he hadn’t broken any promises in the Conservative party manifesto, as that’s not the sort of thing he would ever dream of doing, he had in fact broken the promises he had made in the Conservative party manifesto.
It had been absolutely right to raise NICs and that’s why he wasn’t doing it. And no, before anyone asked, he hadn’t worked out how to fill the £2 billion black hole that had just opened up in the country’s finances. Give him another six months. Maybe changing to one budget a year wasn’t such a good plan after all.
Not even Jeremy Corbyn’s hapless efforts to take advantage of the government’s uselessness at prime minister’s questions could cheer the Undertaker up. He was a proud man. A vain man. A man who still kept his Mr Funeral Director of the Year 1978 award on his mantelpiece. A man who sensed he was now living on borrowed time. A man both dead and undead. He’d screwed up at the first hurdle. Another cock-up and he would be a goner.
The Undertaker only knew one way. When in doubt, keep digging. ‘It wasn’t either myself or the prime minister who realised we had broken the Tory party manifesto which he hadn’t broken,’ he said. ‘It was the BBC’s Laura Kuenssberg.’ Great. So neither the chancellor nor the prime minister had a clue what was in their own manifesto? ‘No, no, no,’ said the Undertaker hurriedly. ‘What I really meant was that when I had leaked that we were planning to break our promises to the media ahead of the budget, no one had raised an eyebrow, so I thought it was all going to be OK.’
By now only the Undertaker’s head was still showing above the grave he had just dug for himself, and Labour backbenchers were queuing up to deliver the coup de grace that their front bench had failed to land. The Undertaker’s misery was only compounded by the support from his own benches. Being told he was a brave man could only mean one thing. There were a lot of MPs who were mighty pissed off they had spent the past week defending a crap policy that had now been ditched. The Undertaker made one last appeal. ‘I want to restore the faith and trust of the British people,’ he mumbled, dimly aware he had just done the exact opposite, ‘especially as we embark on the process of leaving the EU’.
He might not have been quite so quick to say that if he had listened to David Davis give evidence to the Brexit select committee earlier in the day. Therapists often like to see their patients first thing in the morning because they are then at their most undefended and aren’t awake enough to portray themselves in a good light. It certainly worked a treat with the Brexit secretary, who appears to have aged five years in the last few weeks. Though that could have something to do with the large quantities of sodium pentothal he had just taken.
The treasury select committee chair, Hilary Benn, warmed up with a bit of free association. Did no deal mean WTO tariff barriers? ‘Yes,’ said Davis. Would there be border checks between Northern Ireland and the rest of Ireland? ‘Yes.’ Would the EU/US open skies agreement be dead in the water? ‘Yes.’ Would we lose passporting rights of financial services? ‘Yes.’ Did this mean that the foreign secretary was idiotic to say that dropping out of the EU on WTO terms would be fine? ‘Yes.’ Whoops. He had just landed Boris in it. Still, Boris wouldn’t have thought twice about knifing him.
Benn then went for the throat. Had Davis made any calculation of the exact costs of leaving the EU on WTO terms? ‘God no,’ said Davis breezily. ‘I know how it’s going to work out. I just haven’t quantified it.’ Every member of the committee – even the Leavers – stared into the abyss. Davis had just admitted the government was saying no deal would be better than a bad deal when it didn’t even know the cost of no deal. A parish council wouldn’t get away with that level of unaccountability. Davis shrugged. There was something liberating about telling the truth. Why not let the country know that the chancellor hadn’t a clue about the economy and Brexit was heading for the rocks? It wasn’t as if there was an effective opposition to stop them.
* * *
After attending an EU summit in the middle of March, Theresa May came back to parliament to give a statement on how the weekend had gone. But as almost nothing had happened and she was sent home while the other 27 EU countries discussed Brexit, she didn’t have a lot to say. She rifled through her notes, trying to fill in time. ‘I did call on the EU to complete the single market in digital services as that would be in the UK’s best interests,’ she said. Only someone with a synaptic disconnect could have remained oblivious to the irony of urging everyone else to sign up to something she was committed to leaving. But Theresa effortlessly sank to the occasion.
Jeremy Corbyn asked her how the Brexit divorce proceedings were going. ‘Don’t call it a divorce,’ Theresa May had replied crossly. ‘Brexit isn’t a divorce.’ She was right. A divorce implies two parties more or less amicably agreeing their terms of separation within a couple of years. Brexit was going to be messier than that. Much messier. The chances of reaching a mutually satisfactory financial settlement and trade agreement in that short a time were almost non-existent.
This didn’t entirely impress the SNP. Scotland had voted by a large majority to remain in the EU and the SNP weren’t keen on being dragged out of the EU as part of a job lot with the rest of the UK. And with parliament only being allowed a meaningless, meaningful vote on a final Brexit deal, Nicola Sturgeon, the SNP leader, had called for Scotland to be allowed a second independence referendum.
This was something Theresa was unwilling to grant. The Scots had had their chance and blown it. Now they just had to suck it up until she was ready to give them one. Or not. She hadn’t decided yet. Either way, Scotland was coming out of the EU. End of. What it had to accept was that it was better off being part of a union. Even if the United Kingdom was better off out of one. Logic had never been the prime minister’s strongest suit.
* * *
Maybot stuck on repeat as Sturgeon lets rip over referendum
16 MARCH 2017
‘Now is not the time for a second independence referendum,’ said Theresa May, tilting her head to one side like a patronising Princess Diana and fluttering her eye-lids over the shoulders of ITV’s Robert Peston into what she imagined was the hearts of the Scottish people.
At times like this Theresa felt it was her destiny to be the Queen of Unionist Hearts. Even though she still wasn’t sure where Scotland was exactly. But she somehow just knew she would love it if she ever got round to finding out. The Scots stared back impassively.
‘Then when is the right time?’ enquired Peston reasonably.
‘Now is not the time.’
Peston tried again. ‘Can we be clear about when you do think is the right time?’
‘Now is not the time.’ A virus had re-infected the Maybot and she was stuck on repeat.
‘Yes, I get that, but …’
‘Now is not the time,’ said the prime minister, unaware she was turning her bad week into a worse one.
‘So what you’re saying is …’<
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‘Now is not the time.’
Over in Holyrood, the Scottish first minister, Nicola Sturgeon, was only too happy to agree. Now was not the time to hold a second referendum. But sometime late next year when the Scots had had a chance to see how badly they were going to be screwed over Brexit would be.
The promised UK consensus that the prime minister had offered on any Brexit deal had already been relegated to a few text messages: ‘Soz. We R leaving the single market’ and Sturgeon didn’t trust Westminster not to sell her country even further down the river.
First minister’s questions in Scotland is an altogether more enlightening affair than prime minister’s questions down south. Not least because serious questions get asked. And answered. It helps that the two main adversaries, Sturgeon and Conservative Ruth Davidson, are rather sharper than their UK counterparts – not difficult for Davidson as Jeremy Corbyn hit a new low at PMQs the day before by even forgetting to ask a couple of questions. It’s also a major plus that the rest of the chamber manages to listen without sounding like a Bash Street Kids school reunion. When each speaker has finished talking, there is a round of applause. Or silence. It’s disconcertingly polite.
Davidson opened by asking whether Sturgeon thought it was the right time to call for a referendum when Scottish schools were in such a mess. The first minister eyed her up. A civil question deserved a civil answer. Yes, there were problems in schools and she was doing her best to deal with them but that didn’t stop her multi-tasking in the national interest.
‘Is it not true, though,’ said Davidson, ‘that independent forecasts suggest independence would put Scotland £11 billion in the red?’
This was Sturgeon’s moment to let rip. Ever so nicely, of course. The reason Scotland was running a deficit was because it had been under the control of the Westminster purse strings for so long. Surely it was time for Scotland to see if it could do better on its own, rather than risk being made even worse off by a hard Tory Brexit? And if they couldn’t then at least there would be the consolation of knowing the pain was self-inflicted?
Davidson kept going. She rather had to, as she’s the last politician standing in the UK between Scotland remaining in the UK and declaring a Unilateral Declaration of Independence. Unlike in the last independence referendum, Labour is now dead in the water in Scotland and the appearance of May on the campaign trail would send voters running into the arms of the SNP.
‘I choose to put this parliament first,’ said Davidson.
Bad move. Sturgeon quickly reminded her opposite number that she had a far higher share of the vote than Theresa – even taking into account the dodgy counts in Thanet and elsewhere – and had been elected on a manifesto that had promised a second referendum. ‘So I issue a direct challenge,’ she concluded. ‘If next Wednesday, the Scottish parliament votes for a second referendum, will the Tories respect the will of this parliament?’ Sod it. A party that lived by ‘The Will of the People’ could also die by it.
Back in London, Theresa experienced a glimmer of hope. She may have just made a second independence referendum inevitable. But at least she’d given herself an even chance of delaying it until the Scots were completely penniless.
* * *
On the afternoon of 22 March a 52-year-old British terrorist, Khalid Masood, drove into a group of pedestrians on Westminster Bridge, killing four people and injuring 49 others. Masood then ran through the main gates of the Palace of Westminster, where he killed PC Keith Palmer with a machete before being shot dead by armed police. The following day, parliament convened to hear the prime minister make a statement on the terrorist attack. In the past the prime minister had often managed to misjudge the big occasions, appearing to be lacking in both grace and warmth, but this time she was note-perfect: calm and informative; dignified with a hint of steel.
At the very same time the terrorist attack was taking place in London, the Scottish parliament in Holyrood was debating whether it should call for a second independence referendum. Once news of the scale of the attack reached Holyrood, the debate was halted. Just under a week later, it was reconvened and the tone of the debate was noticeably more conciliatory, with Nicola Sturgeon emphasising shared values, democracy and differences of opinion that were sincerely held.
Sturgeon also tried to keep things short and sweet. She had tried – my God she had tried – not to call for another independence referendum by begging Theresa to come to some kind of deal with Scotland. But Theresa had repeatedly snubbed her, refusing to even talk about the implications of Brexit for Scotland.
The Scottish Conservatives accused the SNP of political opportunism but the SNP had the necessary majority to win the vote by 69 to 59.
The following day, two days earlier than the prime minister’s self-imposed deadline of March 31st, Tim Barrow, Britain’s ambassador to the EU, delivered a letter formally triggering Article 50 to Donald Tusk, president of the EU Council.
* * *
End of the affair: May finds breaking up with EU is hard to do
29 MARCH 2017
In his Brussels office, President Tusk ripped open the envelope. ‘Dear Donald, hope you are well … blah, blah … the people of Britain have voted … blah, blah … it’s not you, it’s me … blah, blah … I really want to remain friends, but right now I need some space … blah, blah … I know I can’t expect to have my cake and eat it but if there was any chance of me having my cake and eating it, I wouldn’t say no … blah, blah … joint custody of the kids … blah, blah … Love from Theresa.’
Tusk scrunched the letter into a ball and tossed it into the bin. It was almost exactly as he had expected. Polite, verging on the over-familiar, in places; rude and a bit threatening in others. Nothing he couldn’t deal with quite comfortably. He would give as good as he got over the coming years. But what did surprise him was how emotional he felt. ‘We already miss you,’ he muttered. ‘Thank you and goodbye.’
Back in London, Theresa May was also having a wobble. She had expected to feel nothing but relief at triggering Article 50. No more pretending to listen to the whines of the hardcore Eurosceptic fanatics on her own benches. No more pretending to take any notice of the Scots. No more pretending to pretend that she knew what the hell she was doing. Instead she felt nothing but a sense of sadness and anti-climax. Sadness that she was finally leaving something she would actually quite miss. Anti-climax because after all the build-up she was left with a gnawing sense of emptiness.
The prime minister tried to keep her emotions in check as she delivered her statement on the triggering of Article 50. ‘It is a plan for a new deep and special partnership between Britain and the European Union,’ she said. ‘A partnership of values. A partnership of interests. A partnership based on cooperation in areas such as security and economic affairs.’ BFFs. Kiss, kiss, kiss.
A few Tory backbenchers began to look a little uncomfortable. They had come decked out with Union Jack ties, iPad covers and hair bows in anticipation of a glorious celebration of the nation’s liberation from the jackboot of Europe. What they were getting was more of a love letter. The longer Theresa was on her feet the more it sounded as if she thought Brussels was heaven on Earth and was begging to re-join the EU as soon as possible.
From time to time, Theresa’s rose-tinted fantasies got the better of her. Claiming that Britain would be stronger, fairer and more united, while Northern Ireland is in deadlock, the Scottish parliament has just voted for a second referendum and the Welsh are becoming steadily more disillusioned, indicated a loosening grip on reality.
Nor did she do herself any favours by saying: ‘More than ever, the world needs the liberal democratic values of Britain.’ The Lib Dems couldn’t believe their luck at getting a shout out from the prime minister. Theresa didn’t even notice the irony of what she was saying and merely repeated herself after a long interruption for laughter. She was lost in a personal grief.
Jeremy Corbyn surprised no one by responding to the statement that he
had expected the prime minister to make rather than the one she had made. He went off on a lonely riff about hard Brexit and bargain basement tax havens, seemingly unaware the prime minister had already committed herself to meeting Labour’s six Brexit tests. She wouldn’t, of course, but that was beside the point. What mattered was the EU love-in. On days like this the Labour leader redefines the meaning of the word mediocre.
Most of the Tory Eurosceptics – with the exception of Bill Cash, for whom the only good German is a dead German – more or less managed to keep their triumphalism in check. There would be plenty of time for crowing in the days ahead. All that mattered was that the letter had been sent; whether it was a disaster or not was neither here nor there.
Theresa’s only difficult moments at the dispatch box came when Angus Robertson pointed out that Scotland had voted to remain and that Theresa had broken her promise to agree a deal with the Scots. For the only time, Theresa looked flustered.
‘My constituency voted Remain,’ she said. Comparing a country to a constituency was not the brightest move. Realising her mistake, she went full Maybot and repeated, ‘Now is not the time for a second referendum’ over and over again. The SNP sniffed blood. Now might not be, but sometime soon might well be. The clock was ticking. 730 days and counting.
David Davis: the UK’s secretary of state for badly needing a lie-down
30 MARCH 2017
Hanging on the wall of a disused office in the Department for Exiting the European Union there must be a picture of a David Davis who is getting visibly younger by the day. The real Brexit secretary is on the opposite trajectory. Six months ago he was fit, active and young for his age; now he looks done in. Not done in as in a bit tired. Done in as in completely knackered. On his knees. His eyes have developed huge bags beneath them that not even a skilled makeup artist could conceal, his face has sunk and reddened and he moves more slowly. If not always more deliberately. At this rate he will be a shell by the end of the year. A hollow head for a hollow crown.
