The pleasantries of agreeing that terrorism was a very bad thing out of the way, Ed Miliband got down to the real business at prime minister’s questions. Could David Cameron remind the House which leader said in May 2010 that it would be feeble to back out of a televised debate?
The prime minister did his best to look affronted. “I love free speech as much as the next man,” he said, making sure he kept his eyes on George Osborne to his left rather than Nick Clegg to his right. “In fact, I love free speech so much that I’m not going to answer that question, because to do so without Caroline Lucas sitting here on the dispatch box in front of me and holding my hand would render the whole thing worthless.
“I love the Greens more than life itself. Caroline is my rock. Without her, I just can’t go on. Only this morning we went out on a run together along the Downs together. Out, out, in the mighty embrace of nature, our hair gently flecking with sweat, before heading back to feed some orphaned badgers and share a hearty Fairtrade granola breakfast. So I put the question to the right honourable gentleman: why is he so frightened of debating with the Green party?”
Miliband could not believe his luck. This was one PMQs he just could not lose. He had never said he would not debate with the Greens: only that he would debate with anyone whom Ofcom decided should be there. This wasn’t nearly good enough for Cameron. “How do I love thee, Caroline?” he said, his voice quivering with the most noblest of passion. “Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth of your cavity wall insulation to the height of your wind turbine.” Lucas smouldered. The unrequited desire she had long held for the prime minister had finally been reciprocated.
“Thank you, thank you Dave,” she trembled, coyly blowing him a kiss while the Tory backbenchers half-heartedly cheered in an effort to make this union seem something other than the product of a fevered and desperate imagination.
Still Cameron wasn’t finished, though. Grabbing a guitar from Lib Dem Norman Baker, he played two familiar chords before singing: “Hands / Touching hands / Reaching out / Touching me / Touching you …” As he reached the chorus, the whole government front bench – apart from Clegg, who seemed strangely put out – joined in: “Sweet Caroline / Good times never seemed so good / I’ve been inclined / To believe they never would …” There wasn’t a dry eye in the house when Theresa May and Michael Gove locked arms at: “How can I hurt when holding you?”
“So,” said the prime minister, raising an arm to prevent the inevitable standing ovation. “Let me ask the right honourable gentleman again: why is he so chicken when it comes to the Greens?”
This inevitably provoked a chorus of clucks from the Labour benches as Miliband said it was Cameron who was running scared. If these exchanges were any foretaste of the televised debates that will inevitably happen, they might prove to be less than enlightening.
That was that and Cameron had no time to say how much he also adored the other national party with a sitting MP not invited to the debate. Step forward George Galloway in a catsuit, singing: “R-E-S-P-E-C-T / Whip it to me / (Respect, just a little bit) …” For now, at least, that had to remain the greatest love story never told.
