Afilonius Rex and Martyn Jones

Picture the scene. It’s Prime Minister’s Questions, the great gladiatorial stage of British democracy, less Gladiator and more Blazing Saddles at a town planning meeting in Swindon. Keir Starmer, sensible Labour’s hero, their knight in gleaming, sensible shoes, rises from the opposition bench. That look on his face, you know the one, shows a man who’s just alphabetised his law books and is ready to go. Across the gallery, Rishi Sunak sits there, gleaming, like a waxwork who’s been told he has to look “empathetic” by 5 p.m. or he’ll be back in the dock. Starmer adjusts his glasses and launches into one of his trademark cross-examinations. It’s like watching a lawyer interrogate a spreadsheet. “Point one, Mr Speaker!” He declares, and you can hear the ghost of Mel Brooks shouting, “What’s wrong with this guy? Where’s the dynamism?” He cites a statistic: a 17.3% increase in NHS waiting times, in case you’re wondering, and it isn’t. Then another: a £3.2 billion shortfall in council budgets. It’s meticulous, it’s legal, it’s as if he’s building a case to prosecute a toaster for breach of warranty. By the time he gets to his witty quip, “The failure of this government isn’t just a policy, it’s a personality trait!”, he drops like a Gregg’s custard tart allowed to fall by a woman worried about her cleaning bills.