Remain man Phil Hammond makes everyone want to leave
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Version 0 of 1. If you can’t beat them, bore them. The EU referendum gloves have been off for less than a week and already the Conservatives have notched up several self-inflicted wounds. Some of which may yet prove to be fatal. What better way then for the Tories to get through a potentially awkward EU debate without extending the casualty list, than sending in the foreign secretary as their lead-off man. Philip Hammond has yet to find a room he cannot empty, and once news of his arrival in the chamber had been confirmed, barely a dozen Conservatives bothered to join him. That figure went steadily down the longer Hammond spoke. Forty minutes into his hour-long speech – at exactly the moment the foreign secretary declared himself a prominent and charismatic leader of the remain campaign – a door banged. A pistol shot quickly followed. Such events are not uncommon when Hammond is at the dispatch box. Deep within the foreign secretary’s psyche – presuming he actually has one – there could be a charismatic man. Phil the Funny, Phil the Cool, Phil the Charmer. But those Phils never get to escape his larynx and all the world gets to see is Dull Phil, Deadly Phil and Deadly Dull Phil. It’s the way he tells them. “I don’t really like Europe myself,” Phil monotoned. “Johnny Foreigner is an untrustworthy cove. But the best way of making sure Johnny Foreigner isn’t too untrustworthy is to keep a close eye on him. Give Johnny Foreigner an inch and he’ll take a kilometre.” This wasn’t the most compelling pro-European argument ever made and Labour’s Pat McFadden intervened to ask if he, like the prime minister, had become more aware of the security risks posed by leaving the EU since he’d been in government for six years. “Oh yes,” said Phil. “I’d forgotten that bit. But now you come to mention it I am a lot more aware of the security risks posed by leaving the EU since I’ve been in government for six years.” Staying on message is not always easy when you are barely conscious. Phil stared across at the Labour benches in search of inspiration. Perhaps they could help him out. He certainly had a great deal more friends there than he did behind him. Of the 11 Tories breathing down his neck, nine were hardline Eurosceptics. Make that 10, if you count Bernard Jenkin’s iPad which intermittently interrupted proceedings with “I hate Europe” heckles. Phil’s only two salvations were his own lack of self-awareness and the absence of Boris Johnson. BoGo was off waterboarding Michael Gove. “Repeat after me. I won’t open my mouth on the European court of justice until I know what I’m talking about.” Gurgle, gurgle. There was no way Phil could get through the hour without mentioning the ongoing spat between the prime minister – along with almost every legal bigwig – and his justice secretary. “What the disagreement highlights,” Phil insisted, “is how divided the opposition benches are and how united the Tories are. We are all the best of friends on this side of the house.” Phil looked a little hurt, surprised even, as everyone burst out laughing. Just to prove what good friends they were, the hardcore Eurosceptics lined up to take Phil on. It’s possible that if a giant meteor hit Earth at the same time as Arsenal won the Champions League then the European court of justice could wipe Britain off the face of the planet, they insisted. Phil disagreed, though he was prepared to make one small concession. “Look I’m sorry I’m not selling this EU deal very well,” he observed truthfully, “but you antis have failed to tell us what being out of the EU would look like.” Step forward a misty-eyed Jenkin. “It will be like going back to the 19th century,” he said. “The Queen will become empress of India and the Hun will bow down before her in his eagerness to make trade agreements with us. Our cavalry will once again be the envy of the world.” Jenkin’s own iPad began interrupting him. “I hate Europe, I hate Europe.” Phil looked round in surprise. The automated voice sounded uncannily like his own. |