A slow but engrossing day unfolded in Westminster, reminiscent of a chess match where little seemed to happen yet everything was at stake. With the King back in his place, the question loomed: would Wes Streeting make his move? Did he have enough pawns? Might the (nasal) knight be taken?
Morning Rumours and Inaction
Overnight headlines suggested Mr Streeting and Ed Miliband could vie to replace Sir Keir Starmer. Dawn came and went. Reporters scoured their inboxes for a Campaign Streeting 'op note' about a launch event, but none arrived. Was Mr Streeting awaiting the publication of NHS waiting list figures? Or was he struggling to secure the public support of 81 Labour MPs?
A gambit from the red queen: Angela Rayner, dressed up as a wide-eyed innocent, gave a soft-furnishings interview to ITV's Paul Brand to proclaim her fiscal innocence. Ms Rayner had been 'cleared by Haitch MRC' over her property taxes, though she still had to cough up 40,000 smackeroos. If that's a clearance, I'm Boris Spassky.
The Commons and Portcullis House
Still no word from Wes. Andy Burnham was not even on the board. Could he find an MP with a safeish northern English seat to commit seppuku? The Commons opened at 9.30am and the chamber was nearly empty. Everyone else was in Portcullis House, the newish building beyond Big Ben. Under its glass-roofed atrium, the scene resembled an airport during flight delays, only missing 'bing bong' Tannoy announcements from easyJet.
Parliamentarians and journalists lounged about, drinking coffee from plastic cups and swapping rumours. Foreign Office minister Hamish Falconer strode by with a mobile pressed to his ear, though no one believed there was anyone on the line. He likely just wanted to look busy and avoid questions. Barry Gardiner (Lab, Brent N) reminisced about his school days, noting he was head boy at Haileybury and once climbed the chapel roof.
Afternoon Developments
Hours passed. The Commons trundled through its business with minimal attendance. Chatter grew that Cabinet ministers, perhaps even Rachel Reeves, whose support for Sir Keir had been muted, were preparing to see the PM one by one to urge him to concede. A delusional No10 chuckled that it had pushed Mr Streeting into a position where he would have to initiate a contest, or 'trigger the Prime Minister', as Ms Rayner put it.
A chess-playing friend shared an adage: 'The blunders are there, just waiting to be made.' Mr Streeting was determined not to blunder into provoking a leadership election. His people insisted he 'had the numbers', but Sir Keir's people scoffed. They thought they had his knackers in a wrench.
Light entertainment came with news that Al Carns, blunt-witted junior defence minister and former Royal Marine, fancied his chances. Camp Carns signalled: 'If someone fires the starting gun, he isn't afraid of gunfire.' Sgt Bilko would be a runner, if there were a race.
The Resignation and Aftermath
At 12.59pm, Wes's resignation dropped. Two pages long, topped and tailed in a hand not unlike that of the late Princess Diana. A minute later, Westminster's skies darkened with a thunderstorm—such auguries normally only happen in Scooby-Doo cartoons. No10's grandmasters may have felt less superior when they read Mr Streeting's suggestion that the contest be delayed until Brother Burnham had his pieces in order. Had Streeting and Burnham made an anti-Starmer pact?
Then came another blow to the PM. At 5.15pm, posh Josh Simons vacated his Makerfield seat, doing so with much self-polishing about 'putting the country first'. His Commons career went phutt in a recent scandal. A blow-in blew up and has now blown out.
To close, another chess saying: 'A knight on the rim is dim.' I am not entirely sure what it means, but it sounds suitable for poor Sir Keir.
