PMQs sketch: Miliband targets Tory turpitude

It was like the last night of the Proms at PMQs. Miliband stood up to hearty roars—Tory roars—that seemed to go on for minutes. This was the longest and most humiliating ovation of his life. But his throat had been hit by a lurgy and his voice was rasping like a misfiring chainsaw. This impairment made him a less tasty target. It took the fun out of the fight.

Still, Cameron had a pop. ‘If he gets a doctor’s appointment we do hope he doesn’t forget it.’

Miliband flashed back. ‘He noticed that I lost a couple of paragraphs in my speech. Since we last met he’s lost a couple of Members of Parliament.’

He brought up Lord Freud’s quote, about the disabled being unworthy of decent wages, but his main target was Tory moral turpitude. He woofed and snarled through a list of Conservative atrocities and then coughed out a final sound-bite. ‘The nasty party is back.’ We got a full-frontal of his plump white rabbity gnashers. Quite a distressing sight. If you’re using the ‘nasty’ slur against your enemies you need to appear considerably lovelier by comparison. Miliband seemed rattled today.

His backbenches swung into action and gave us a foretaste of Labour’s electoral strategy: the NHS must save the party. Member after member stood up to scare us. The NHS is falling apart, we were told. Hospitals are in meltdown. Clinics are being bull-dozed. Rampant bureaucrats are wasting millions. Cop cars are being used as ambulances. Cancer care is in the throes of privatisation, and bemused patients are roaming the hills looking for a hospital to take them in.

Cameron responded with money. Money spent. Money pledged. His electoral strategy has the same centre-piece as Labour’s. He’ll link the future of the NHS (where he isn’t trusted) to economic prosperity (where he is). Growth will pay for health.

Then up stood Douglas Carswell. His mouth was in its characteristic off-kilter position. One end twists upwards and the other curls down towards his shoes. It’s time we were told what’s going on with the Carswell cake-hole. Is it a grin that wants to be taken seriously, or a scowl that’s trying to look on the bright side? To neutrals he has always seemed sharp, attractive and unstuffy. But then he ratted on his pals. A Tory apostate would normally be greeted by ironic Labour cheers but there were none today because the fourth party mutiny threatens Labour as much as anyone.

As Carswell began to speak, the silence was positively grisly. His subject was the recall bill which is aimed at naughty MPs who stretch their constituents’ patience beyond breaking point. No chance of that in Carswell’s case. He’s so confident of Clacton’s adoration that he’s asked them to elect him twice in a single parliament. And he wants them to do it again in May. That’s leadership.

Cameron treated him with bland and studied aloofness, peering across as if not quite able to put a name to a face. He said that he was agreeable to any amendment to the bill. Down sat Carswell. Electro-magnetic waves of hostility seemed to zing around his head. He is now the Commons leader of a party with a single member. It must be lonely in the tea-room.