For the sixteenth and final time in this parliament, Theresa May was called upon to explain herself to the home affairs select committee. Her weariness was all too apparent in the droop of her eyes and shoulders; appearing before one of parliament’s more psychologically dysfunctional committees will be one part of the home secretary’s workload she won’t miss if she doesn’t keep her job after the election.
Unusually, Keith Vaz, the committee’s chair, also looked as if he was tiring of the routine. Normally he’s keen to hog the limelight, but on this occasion he began as if content to give the others a chance to squabble amongst themselves. Vaz barely raised an eyebrow as Yasmin Qureishi and Ian Austin had their own private argument, while Michael Ellis and Nicola Blackwood tut-tutted from the other side of the table. May couldn’t prevent an involuntary snigger. “It’s not funny,” said Austin. The home secretary assured him she hadn’t been laughing either at his line of questioning or the committee. Heaven forbid.
This shook Vaz out of his torpor and he set about re-establishing his authority. Could the home secretary please disclose the salary being paid to Lowell Goddard, the New Zealand judge who is to head the child abuse inquiry? he asked. May was very sorry but she couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. Vaz was outraged. “Why not?” May shrugged before suggesting that she wasn’t entirely sure. Such matters were very difficult to quantify, what with the government being forced to pay top dollar having already lost two chairs, business class flights from New Zealand, the cost of central London accommodation and the productivity bonus of £100k per convicted paedophile. However much it was, it was far too much to be revealed before the election.
“Please,” Vaz begged.
“No. I’m not going to tell you.”
Vaz wasn’t feeling the love. “I feel let down by you,” he sobbed. “This committee went out of its way to vet Justice Goddard quickly for you. It’s an unrequited gratitude.”
“I try not to unrequite you on anything,” May purred. The words, ‘Big Boy’ died on her lips. This was an image everyone wished they had been spared.
“Well, if you won’t tell me her salary, I won’t tell you what’s in our report about police bail that is being published on Friday,” Vaz huffed. May could live with that disappointment. Vaz moved on to the possibility of serious delays on the A20 in Kent thanks to new exit checks at ferry ports. What had the home secretary done about it? May checked her notes. She had put back the exit checks until after Easter so that every jihadi who wanted to get away to Syria over the holiday period could do so.
“Water cannons,” said Labour’s Paul Flynn.
“What about them?”
“Why has it taken more than a year for her to reach a decision on whether they should be used in this country?”
“They require a great deal of testing and re-testing.”
“How do you test and re-test a water cannon?” Vaz interrupted. “Surely you just point it at people and they fall over? Or not? And why couldn’t she just use the same evidence other countries had used?” May chose to ignore that.
“The mayor of London has bought three water cannons at a cost of £250,000,” Flynn added. “What would happen if she were not to give her approval.” May’s smile suggested that were that to be the case then Boris would look even more like a muppet.
Time moved slowly. But move it did. “Thank you for coming, home secretary,” Vaz said. May nodded. The pair could do with a break.
