by John Crace
The election couldn’t have turned out any better and George was determined to enjoy every minute of his chance to smash up the last remaining working components of the Maybot. ‘Theresa May is a dead woman walking,’ he said, making no effort to conceal his elation. The only question was how long it took for the computer and the Tories to say no. He looked as if he wouldn’t mind if she carried on for a little while yet, if only to prolong her suffering.
‘Her promise that no deal is better than a bad Brexit deal is now dead in the water, as the DUP will never allow that,’ George continued, punching the air in triumph. Come to think of it, there weren’t any bits of the manifesto that weren’t dead in the water. The few sections that hadn’t been rewritten during the election campaign would certainly have to be rewritten now.
There was also the distinct possibility that Theresa May was a dead woman not walking as she chose to lay low and avoid the chance to explain what had gone wrong to the Sunday politics programmes. She left that job to the defence secretary. In any Tory shitstorm, it’s a fair bet that Michael Fallon will be sent out to steady the sinking ship. Primarily because Mogadon Mike is usually too dopey to know there is a shitstorm going on. Sure enough, he began by saying how brilliantly the Tories had done to win the most seats and he was looking to Brexit carrying on as normal.
At which point, Marr had to break it to him that the Tories had actually had a disastrous election and that they were going to have to be propped up by a bunch of gay-hating, climate-change denying, religious bigots. Mogadon Mike appeared genuinely astonished by this piece of news and quickly ad libbed that he couldn’t possibly comment on any deal because he didn’t know if there was one. But assuming there might be one soon it would probably be best for all concerned if the Tories didn’t publicly reveal what promises they had made to ‘our friends the DUP’. Under the circumstances, friends was probably not the ideal choice of words.
There may have been moments over the weekend when Theresa May thought about jacking the whole thing in and resigning as prime minister. That was never a realistic option. The last thing the Tory party needed was another general election, which the Labour party would probably win. The voters hadn’t wanted the last election and they certainly didn’t want another. A second general election within a matter of months could only end in a punishment beating for the Tories.
So Theresa May had to stay in office, at least until such a time as the Tories had another leader lined up. And preferably until after Brexit in 2019. Even the most committed Leavers now accepted that Brexit was – in the short term at least – going to prove toxic, so better to leave Theresa in place to take the hit than risk tarnishing anyone else’s reputation. All of which meant that the prime minister was going to be forced to eat some very public humble pie. Starting with the meeting of all her backbenchers at a meeting of the 1922 Committee.
* * *
The Maybot is rebooted as strong and humble. Stumble for short
12 JUNE 2017
The corridor outside committee room 14 was almost full by 4.15 p.m. With journalists. It was 20 or so minutes later that the first Tory MPs and peers started to arrive for the meeting of the 1922 Committee. Among the first to arrive were Anna Soubry and Nicky Morgan, eager to get a front-row seat for the Maybot’s humiliation. Morgan looked particularly bright-eyed and chipper.
Boris Johnson was the first cabinet member to arrive. Almost as if he had a point to prove. For the last couple of days he had been seen out and about wearing London Olympics clobber. Given that 2012 was the last time anyone in the country had found the foreign secretary particularly interesting, this had seemed suspiciously like a stage-managed leadership bid. But for this meeting Boris was 100% behind the Supreme Leader. Or as close as he could get to it.
As was Michael Gove, who was the next cabinet minister to make his entrance. Now wasn’t the time to stab anyone in the back. That could wait for an hour or two. For now the newly appointed environment minister was only too happy to guarantee EU subsidies for any farmer willing to grow fields of wheat for the Maybot to run through. Philip Hammond arrived grim-faced and head down. Being allowed to stay on as chancellor only because the Supreme Leader was too weak to sack him wasn’t great for his self-esteem.
Three minutes after the scheduled start of 5 p.m. the Maybot arrived, flanked by Gavin Barwell, her new chief of staff and former MP who had lost his Croydon Central seat in the election. She looked grim, and her mood wasn’t improved by the less than enthusiastic welcome she received. From outside the room it sounded as if the faint banging was MPs smashing their own heads against the desks.
Several minders stood outside the three entrances to make sure no reporters tried to listen in, but it wasn’t long before the first MP came out to update everyone. ‘There’s no sign of the Maybot,’ he said, sounding genuinely astonished. He hadn’t realised that the Supreme Leader could be reprogrammed to sound almost human. The software update had come too late for the election, but just in time to save her job. Still, at least she had her priorities right.
The backbencher went on to hold court for a good five minutes. Was she sorry? Yes, very sorry. Did she actually say she was sorry? He seemed less clear on that. ‘She was contrite,’ he said, choosing his words carefully. ‘She said: “I’ve got us into this mess and I’m going to get us out of it”, and that she would serve the party as long as the party wanted her.’ And how long did the party want her to serve? He shrugged and walked off.
Ten minutes later a second backbencher walked out. He looked less than overwhelmed by the Maybot’s apologies, but managed to stay more or less on message. Everything was hunky dory. Never better. There wasn’t going to be a leadership election, he declared firmly. But if there was, would he vote for her? He didn’t answer that. Onwards and sideways. Gove came out tight-lipped, but giving a thumbs up sign. With Mikey that could have meant anything.
Some overly loud cheers from the remaining sweaty MPs crammed into the overheated room marked the end of the meeting. The smiles also looked to be just too wide to be true. Everything was going to be different now. Strong and stable had been replaced by strong and humble. Stumble for short. ‘She said she was going to listen and govern,’ one MP cooed in a state of near rapture. Such was her sense of wonderment it had momentarily escaped her that it might have been better for all concerned if the Maybot had thought of that before the election instead of after.
Not that the Maybot was too bothered by that. She emerged triumphant, with a wide smile. The Supreme Leader was still supreme. For the time being. All it had taken was a small slice of humble pie and some gentle reminders. So what if the DUP were a bunch of religious bigots? At least they were the Tories’ religious bigots.
And if anyone really wanted to take her job they could try to take it if they thought they were hard enough. But if she went it was going to be Boris or Jeremy Corbyn. It was up to them which they thought was worse for the Tories. The Maybot had looked her party in the eyes and the party had blinked first. One for all and all for the Maybot. Her humiliation was their humiliation.
Maybot’s reboot stumbles as PM struggles with self-deprecation
13 JUNE 2017
Sic transit gloria mundi. Only a few of the most loyal Tory backbenchers could bring themselves to raise a lacklustre cheer as the Maybot entered the chamber for the re-election of the Speaker, while the father of the house, Ken Clarke, was greeted with full-throated roars from both sides of the house. Seldom can a prime minister have appeared quite so diminished on a first day back in parliament after a general election.
Even John Bercow couldn’t resist a gentle dig as he did his best to appear reluctant to be chosen as Speaker for a third time. He talked of his willingness to serve ‘the government of the day’. With rather too much emphasis on the word ‘day’. The Maybot’s head went down at that. She had been counting on making it to the end of the week at least.
Once Tory MP Cheryl Gillan had completed the Bercow formalities with
the obligatory reminder that seven former Speakers had been beheaded, to which everyone had roared: ‘More, More’ – it’s the same gag every time but MPs never seem to tire of it – the Supreme Leader rose to address the nation. She began by congratulating Bercow on his re-election. ‘At least someone got a landslide,’ she said. Even with ‘SELF-DEPRECATING JOKE’ clearly marked in capitals in the margins of her speech, she couldn’t quite manage to coordinate the words with a genuinely warm smile.
With the newly installed Stumble – Strong and Humble – programme still showing signs of teething problems, the Maybot went back to her default setting of denial. The election had actually turned out pretty well, she suggested, because parliament was now more ethnically diverse than it had ever been in the past. So well done her. That was one in the eye for everyone who was under the impression she had called the election out of naked party political self-interest.
‘The country is still divided and some people blame politicians for this,’ the Supreme Leader continued, sounding mystified as to why this might be. No one dared point out that this could have something to do with her having spent the past seven weeks making highly personal attacks on her opponents, while promising those who voted for her nothing but more pain and more austerity. It’s still early days in the Maybot’s intensive grief counselling sessions and there’s only so much reality she can take.
She concluded by asking the house to come together ‘in the spirit of national unity’. That would be a national unity that puts keeping a Tory government in power above the Northern Ireland peace process. And involves going back on almost everything that had been promised in her manifesto. The Maybot sat down to almost total silence from her backbenchers, most of whom went out of their way to avoid eye contact. One even chose to look at half-naked women playing chess on his mobile rather than look up. Start as you mean to go on.
Jeremy Corbyn was in an altogether better mood. No one has yet told him that he didn’t win the election and there was a swagger to the way he ripped into the Maybot. ‘Democracy is a wondrous thing,’ he observed, before going on to say he hoped the ‘coalition of chaos’ would eventually manage to come up with a Queen’s speech. In the meantime, though, he’d be quite happy to chill out with his mates.
‘We look forward to this parliament, however short it might be,’ he sniggered. And if everything didn’t work out for the Tories, ‘Labour is ready with strong and stable leadership in the national interest.’ Had this been delivered with slightly more grace it would have been all the more effective. But it was still far too devastating for the Maybot, who was in full Stumble mode and staring blankly at her feet.
She did look up when Nigel Dodds got to have his say. In the past she had never given the DUP’s leader in the Commons a second glance, but now she listened in rapture as he spoke of the interesting times ahead in the next five years. Not to mention all the dosh that would now start finding its way into Northern Ireland. Suddenly the Maybot was aware of how clever, how handsome and how statesmanlike Dodds was. How could she not have noticed this before?
* * *
Less than a week after the general election, a fire broke out in Grenfell Tower, a social housing high rise in West London, killing at least 80 people. Both her government and the local council were slow to react to what was a tragically avoidable disaster. Flammable cladding had been used on the outside of the tower block and the government still hadn’t got round to implementing the recommendations made by an enquiry into a similar tragedy some years previously.
As some Labour MPs called for corporate manslaughter charges to be brought, Theresa May appeared totally shell-shocked. She failed to visit the scene of the fire the next day and when she did eventually go there she only met members of the emergency services. Victims of the tragedy were understandably outraged to be ignored by the prime minister. Her lack of judgment over the Grenfell Tower fire – when both Jeremy Corbyn and Sadiq Khan had made a point of visiting victims – lent credence to the image of her as a prime minister who was lacking in empathy.
The Maybot could feel her grip on power slipping still further. She hadn’t even yet managed to agree a deal with the DUP and she couldn’t delay the Queen’s Speech a second time …
* * *
State opening of parliament a crowning humiliation for Maybot
21 JUNE 2017
The crown wasn’t at all happy. Normally it got to sit on the Queen’s head; now it was made to ride in a separate limo. The Queen also didn’t look best pleased by the lack of pursuivants, heralds and ladies of the bedchamber. Her expression never rose above the miserable throughout. Still, at least she was able to make a statement of sorts by wearing a hat in the style of an EU flag. Suck on that, Maybot. There were even empty seats in the Lords. A threadbare state opening of parliament for a threadbare government.
It was all done and dusted in little more than 20 minutes. The longest part was the wait for Black Rod to summon all the MPs from the Commons. Her majesty looked up briefly to check the body language between the Maybot and Jeremy Corbyn. Not good. Come to think of it, the sexual chemistry between the Maybot and her own party wasn’t much better.
The lord chancellor handed the Queen a copy of the speech. Brenda flicked through the largely blank pages with a mixture of distaste and disbelief. Was this all the Maybot could come up with after delaying the state opening by a couple of days. ‘My government will …’ she began, her eyes beginning to close.
It turned out that what her government would be doing most of was dumping large parts of the manifesto on which it had been elected. Out with grammar schools, out with scrapping free school meals and the winter fuel allowance, out with the dementia tax, out with energy price caps. Damn it, the Maybot was even reneging on her promise to reinstate fox hunting. That was the one bit of the speech the Queen had actually been looking forward to.
After limping her way through a series of vague commitments on Brexit along with a promise to unite the country – good luck with that one, she thought, you can’t even unite your own party – Brenda hit the home straight. ‘My government is committed to …’. To scraping the barrel with a whole load of vague promises on space travel and electric cars that had been made in previous Queen’s speeches.
‘It’s almost enough to make one want to abdicate,’ the Queen muttered to Prince Charles, who was standing in for the unwell Duke of Edinburgh, on the way out.
‘Great idea, Mummy,’ said the Prince of Wales, his ears perking up.
‘Only joking. Let’s fawk awf to Ascot.’
With the Queen safely at the races, the Commons reconvened two hours later to debate the speech. As is customary, proceedings began with two speeches from backbenchers. As isn’t so usual, these were neither sparkling nor witty. Perhaps Tories Richard Benyon and Kwasi Kwarteng had decided it was more appropriate to live down to the occasion and keep things dismal.
Jeremy Corbyn stood up and paused. So many open goals, so little time to score them. He eventually opted to begin on a serious note with the Grenfell Tower fire and the terror attacks, before going on to wonder if it was not a little unusual not to implement any of the key promises in a manifesto. A manifesto that had been deleted from the Conservative website only that morning.
This was a new energised and empowered Corbyn and the Tories didn’t quite know how to react to him. For years they had been treating him as a joke; now they were being forced to accept he was a possible future prime minister. They didn’t seem to like it much. Corbyn did ramble a bit towards the end, but you can’t blame him for getting carried away. The way things are shaping up, there’s going to be a lot of days in parliament when he gets the better of the exchanges. Without even needing to be particularly good.
There was a desperation to the roar which greeted the Maybot from the Tory benches. A primal scream of despair. The Maybot only confirmed their fears. After an OK start, she rather fell apart. She didn’t seem to know much about Brexit. Or anything else, for that matter
. She just went back to her tried-and-tested method of saying nothing of any meaning till everyone tuned out. Maybots are as Maybots do.
When Labour MPs pointed out that the election hadn’t actually gone that well for her and she couldn’t do a deal with the DUP, never mind 27 EU countries, her memory files crashed. ‘I won, I won,’ she cried. The expressions on those around her suggested otherwise. Freewheelin’ Phil grimaced. Boris yawned. Their time would come.
* * *
Two and a half weeks after the election, the Conservatives finally reached a deal with the DUP. In return for the support of the eight DUP MPs on votes of confidence and financial matters, the Conservatives would give Northern Ireland an extra £1.5 billion in funding over the course of the next parliament. Given that the government had previously insisted there was no spare money for anything, politicians of other parties were quick to condemn the deal. But the Tories were unmoved. £1.5 billion was a small price to pay for ensuring they had the necessary parliamentary majority to stay in power for the next five years.
* * *
Maybot’s magic money tree? It’ll spread the love in Belfast, says Green
26 JUNE 2017
Damian Green looked at his hands in despair. The first secretary of state had spent the last 20 minutes scrubbing them, but they still weren’t clean. He turned to the Maybot, begging her to explain the details of the agreement the Tories had reached with the DUP to the House of Commons. After all, the whole sorry deal had only ever been about keeping her in a job.