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Cameron and Clegg: saying goodbye is never easy ... | Cameron and Clegg: saying goodbye is never easy ... |
(about 2 hours later) | |
The door to Number 10 opened and David Cameron walked briskly to the waiting Jag. He was under instructions to look prime ministerial, so there was just a perfunctory nod, a tightening of the lips and a strict watch on the vocal tic that now makes him add the word edmiliband to almost every sentence. Silence would be the order of the day till he got back from his top secret mission to Buckingham Palace to inform the Queen that he was planning to dissolve the parliament that had already been dissolved under the Fixed-term Parliaments Act his government had introduced in 2011. | The door to Number 10 opened and David Cameron walked briskly to the waiting Jag. He was under instructions to look prime ministerial, so there was just a perfunctory nod, a tightening of the lips and a strict watch on the vocal tic that now makes him add the word edmiliband to almost every sentence. Silence would be the order of the day till he got back from his top secret mission to Buckingham Palace to inform the Queen that he was planning to dissolve the parliament that had already been dissolved under the Fixed-term Parliaments Act his government had introduced in 2011. |
Moments after Cameron had left, a black BMW pulled up outside Downing Street. After 15 minutes, an out-of-breath woman came running along the pavement carrying an overnight bag and a man’s suit in a John Lewis bag, which she put in the boot. Even when you’ve had plenty of notice, it’s amazing what can almost get left behind. Slightly later than planned, Nick Clegg appeared at the door, his jacket as tight as his situation. He looked straight ahead with a fixed smile. “Will you miss all this?” shouted the BBC’s James Landale. Clegg’s smile turned to rictus. | |
This was how it ended. The coalition that had begun in love nearly five years previously had slipped well beyond hate to indifference. The back-slapping, bicep-grabbing bromantic banter was now a barely remembered past. Both men were now older, much older. Possibly even wiser. Where once they had barely been able to keep their eyes off one another, now they struggled to even look their own reflections in the face. The promises made and broken had turned to scars. | This was how it ended. The coalition that had begun in love nearly five years previously had slipped well beyond hate to indifference. The back-slapping, bicep-grabbing bromantic banter was now a barely remembered past. Both men were now older, much older. Possibly even wiser. Where once they had barely been able to keep their eyes off one another, now they struggled to even look their own reflections in the face. The promises made and broken had turned to scars. |
Even if there were to be another Conservative and Liberal Democrat coalition in the next government, nothing could ever be the same as it had been again. Too much had been said and done that could not be unsaid and undone. Even for politicians. Any future coalition would be a simple matter of expedience founded on the principle of mutual mistrust. And that was the best that was on offer for both men. Political oblivion was every bit as likely. | Even if there were to be another Conservative and Liberal Democrat coalition in the next government, nothing could ever be the same as it had been again. Too much had been said and done that could not be unsaid and undone. Even for politicians. Any future coalition would be a simple matter of expedience founded on the principle of mutual mistrust. And that was the best that was on offer for both men. Political oblivion was every bit as likely. |
For Clegg, it was almost an inevitability. From Messiah to also-ran, he would be remembered as the leader who took the Lib Dems back to the margins of relevance and his party would never forgive him for cutting its number of MPs by half. Everything had gone so wrong he now couldn’t even manage his own farewell properly. What he had intended to be a final grandstanding photocall was turning out to be an act of unbearable pathos. | For Clegg, it was almost an inevitability. From Messiah to also-ran, he would be remembered as the leader who took the Lib Dems back to the margins of relevance and his party would never forgive him for cutting its number of MPs by half. Everything had gone so wrong he now couldn’t even manage his own farewell properly. What he had intended to be a final grandstanding photocall was turning out to be an act of unbearable pathos. |
No outriders, no helicopters as there had been for Cameron. Just him, his thoughts and the curious stares of a few onlookers who weren’t quite sure who he was as the car made its way up Whitehall and then along the Mall. Couldn’t the driver go a bit faster? He now wanted the whole thing to be over as quickly as possible. “I’m sorry, sir,” the driver said. “I’m afraid the prime minister’s appointment with the Queen is over-running. So I’m having to play for time a bit.” It was all just so unfair. He was the one who at least had some reason as lord president of the privy council to be seeing the Queen and it was him being made to look a loser. | |
The Queen was unusually distrait. Even someone with her command of composure and protocol could not remain unsettled by the poignancy of the situation. “I suppose the prime minister has already told you that the government is dissolving parliament,” he mumbled. The Queen nodded. There really wasn’t much more to add. “I don’t suppose we will be meeting one another again, Mr Clegg,” she said. “It’s been nice knowing you. Have a nice life.” | |
On his way out of the palace, Clegg caught sight of a television screen in the servants’ quarters. There was Cameron back at Downing Street, insisting as he always had on having the final word in front of the cameras. “Edmiliband. Edmiliband. Edmiliband.” Clegg shrugged and quickened his stride. So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. |
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