Roll up, roll up, ladies and gentlemen, step a little closer if you dare, though do mind the cameras overhead, the watchful eyes in every corner and the slightly uneasy feeling that someone somewhere is taking notes.
Welcome back to the Big Top of Blunders, now rebranded, it would seem, as something between a travelling circus and a rather more unsettling surveillance theatre, where the clowns perform and the audience wonders whether it is still allowed to laugh.
Week 95 opens not with applause but with a curious chill, the kind that creeps in when the joke begins to wear thin and the setting feels faintly familiar, like a well thumbed copy of Orwell’s 1984 dressed up in red rosettes and a forced grin. The difference, of course, is that Orwell at least had the decency to present his dystopia as fiction. Here, it is performed nightly under the Westminster canvas, with Two Tier Keir as ringmaster, Lord Hermer as chief legal contortionist and the rest of the troupe doing their best to pretend this is all perfectly normal.
At centre stage, fury erupts over the role of Starmer and Hermer in legal claims brought against British soldiers, a grim spectacle that sees those who served dragged back into the spotlight for all the wrong reasons. The ringmaster assures the crowd this is justice. The audience, however, increasingly suspects it is something closer to a moral juggling act, where loyalty is tossed aside and principle bends to whatever shape the performance demands.
Hermer himself now finds his name repeatedly called from the stands, referred to the regulator over Iraq war related claims. In any other circus, the legal adviser might remain behind the curtain. In this one, he is firmly in the spotlight, twisting arguments into improbable shapes while the crowd wonders whether anyone is still keeping track of the truth.
Meanwhile, the Mandelson sideshow refuses to leave town. Starmer is under fire once again, accused of failing to meet basic standards, with a sacked official now lifting the lid on pressure, chaos and questionable judgment surrounding the appointment. The whole affair has become a kind of political freak show, endlessly touring, endlessly drawing gasps, with no sign of the final act.
Elsewhere under the tent this week, reality intrudes in less theatrical but no less troubling ways. A BBC investigation reveals illegal drugs being sold openly in high street mini marts, a reminder that while the circus obsesses over optics and narratives, basic law and order quietly slips through the cracks. The lion tamer, it seems, has misplaced the lion.
On the economic front, the familiar drumbeat continues. Inflation ticks up to 3.3 percent, fuel costs rise and Rachel Reeves unveils yet another stealth tax, this time targeting the shared office sector. The Chancellor’s act now resembles a balloon artist who cannot stop inflating, each twist and squeeze adding pressure until the inevitable pop looms. Businesses watch nervously, wallets tighten and the audience is told this is all part of a carefully choreographed routine.
Then comes the truly strange part of the show, the moment when the laughter falters altogether. Reports emerge of lawful Christian preaching in Colchester facing criminalisation under a community protection notice, while a pastor and grandfather is arrested after comments critical of Islam. One need not agree with every word spoken to feel the ground shifting beneath one’s feet. In the Big Top of Blunders, speech appears to be another prop, permitted or removed depending on the mood of the management.
It is here that the Orwellian comparison begins to feel less like hyperbole and more like uncomfortable observation. The circus lights glare a little brighter, the announcements grow a little louder and the sense that certain views are welcome while others are quietly ushered out of the tent becomes harder to ignore.
Back in the lighter rings, if such a term still applies, MPs have found time to debate school uniforms, with suggestions that tracksuits may replace traditional attire. Critics warn standards could slip, though in truth the wider performance suggests they already have. When the clowns are in charge, it is perhaps only a matter of time before the dress code follows suit.
And through it all, Starmer continues his now familiar routine, deflect, delay, deny, a ringmaster who appears less in control with each passing week. His critics grow louder, his allies more nervous and the audience more restless.
So what have we witnessed in Week 95.
A legal storm over soldiers and accountability.
A Mandelson saga that refuses to end.
A creeping sense of selective enforcement in law and speech.
An economy squeezed tighter with each passing announcement.
And a government that increasingly resembles a performance no one quite remembers buying a ticket for.
The contortionists twist ever further.
The balloon animals swell under pressure.
The freak show expands, drawing uneasy glances.
And the clowns, led by Two Tier Keir and his legal acrobat Hermer, continue to bow as though the applause were still sincere.
But it is not.
Week 95 closes with the tent still standing, the lights still blazing and the music still playing, though now with a distinctly ominous undertone. The laughter has not just faded, it has been replaced by something else entirely, a sense that the show has drifted from farce into something far more serious.
In Orwell’s world, the slogan was simple.
Here, the performance is messier.
But the feeling, for many watching from the stalls, is beginning to look uncomfortably familiar.
READ ALL ABOUT IT: Links to this week’s top Labour circus acts below:
