Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, to another spectacular performance beneath Britain’s most expensive travelling circus.
Step right up, mind the puddles of political custard, and prepare yourselves for another week under the ever-sagging canvas of Clowning Street, where the performers insist everything is under control while simultaneously setting fire to the ringmaster’s podium.
This week has all the ingredients of a classic circus finale. The old ringmaster appears to be packing his trunk, the audience is wondering whether the next act can possibly be any stranger than the last, and somewhere backstage the cabinet is busy arguing over who gets custody of the rubber chickens. As everyone gets ready for an imminent change at the top, the greatest mystery isn’t what the new ringmaster will be like. It’s whether anyone will notice the difference once they do. He might even be worse… if that’s possible.
Clown Keir has spent years presenting himself as the sensible man in the room, the lawyer who would replace chaos with competence. Yet as the curtain falls on his premiership, his farewell tour has become a masterclass in unintended comedy. The man who once questioned the very existence of the House of Lords now appears perfectly comfortable creating new peers at a remarkable rate. In politics, principles often prove to be remarkably flexible. Under the Big Top they simply become another act for the contortionists.
Waiting eagerly in the wings is Andy Burnham, polishing his oversized clown shoes before stepping into the spotlight. His supporters speak of renewal, fresh thinking and a new direction. Others might observe that changing the ringmaster rarely changes the circus. If anything, Burnham’s opening script promises an even bigger production, complete with larger spending commitments, higher taxes and a government that appears determined to discover whether the Treasury can, in fact, be stretched like a balloon animal before it finally bursts.
Financial commentators have spent much of the week peering nervously through the tent flap. Reports of ambitious tax proposals, warnings from economists and cautionary notes from international institutions have created the sort of atmosphere normally associated with someone watching the high-wire act while quietly noticing the safety net has been removed. Confidence, after all, is a wonderful thing, right up until gravity remembers it exists.
Elsewhere, Ed Miliband has performed perhaps the finest piece of circus contortion seen this season. Having spent years championing ambitious green policies, he suddenly appeared rather more accommodating towards fossil fuels when political reality wandered into the tent carrying a clipboard. It takes considerable flexibility to bend quite so dramatically without pulling a muscle, although veteran circus performers assure us this is perfectly normal among Labour’s professional political acrobats.
Back in the centre ring, Britain’s economic performance continues to resemble a juggling act conducted during a small earthquake. Steel has returned to state ownership, prompting inevitable comparisons with another era when nationalisation was regarded as the answer to almost every industrial difficulty. Whether this proves to be a carefully rehearsed performance or merely another volunteer dragged from the audience remains to be seen, but there is certainly no shortage of smoke, mirrors and theatrical confidence.
The supporting acts have been equally entertaining. One department appears determined to regulate social media through rules that experts immediately began picking apart, while another has managed to devise ways of taxing motorists that seem almost magical in their creativity. Somewhere in Whitehall there must surely be a committee dedicated entirely to asking, “How could we possibly make this more complicated, more costly and more difficult for the British people?” before applauding enthusiastically whenever someone produces an answer.
Not to be outdone, the diplomatic troupe has found itself performing its own balancing act, complete with legal wrangling and awkward headlines. Meanwhile, another collection of Europe’s political grandees has once again gathered to distribute medals and honours to one another, proving that if nothing else, officialdom retains an unwavering commitment to congratulating itself with remarkable enthusiasm.
Yet perhaps the most remarkable performance remains the government’s extraordinary ability to present itself as both the ringmaster and the victim. Every stumble becomes someone else’s fault. Every dropped plate was apparently defective before it was thrown. Every collapsing trapeze was inherited from the previous act. If excuses generated electricity, Britain would never need another power station.
As one ringmaster prepares to leave the sawdust behind and another waits impatiently beside the curtain, the audience may be forgiven for wondering whether this is really a new show at all. The costumes may be freshly pressed, the posters newly printed and the billing slightly altered, but the tent is the same, the clowns are familiar and the acts have an uncanny habit of ending in exactly the same pie fight.
Until next week, keep your tickets safe, hold tightly onto your wallets and remember the oldest rule in the circus. Never volunteer to be part of the act, because somehow it is always the audience that ends up paying for the performance.
READ ALL ABOUT IT: Links to this week’s top Labour circus acts below:
