The dull thud of slapped backs echoed round 'ull football stadium when gel-head Alan "Mr Quiffy" Johnson expressed a desire to step into John Prescott's shoes, if not his underpants. Guest of honour and one-time aspirant, Charles "Fatty" Clarke, loudly declared that Mr Quiffy should run for the Labour crown, not the deputy's tiara. Such an incitement is unlikely to be greeted with equanimity by Big Gordie, particularly given that Mr Quiffy advocated Fatty's restoration to the cabinet. Loudest cheer of the night was reserved for a local DJ who, overwhelmed by the endorsements, announced that he, too, wanted to be leader.
Ding Ding, Round 1: Fighting talk from Red Dave in the Commons corridor. My passing snout overheard the bashful Old Etonian boasting how the prorogation bell saved Tony B from another fearsome question-time thrashing. Cameron, it transpires, believes he trounced both the outgoing premier and speaker, Gorbals Mick, in the final bout before the Queen's Speech. Controversial and dangerous, Dave. Remember, chum, "Hubris" isn't a Welsh seat.
Ding Ding, Round 2: The Beast of Bolsover has lost his unofficial title of chief heckler to the Babe of Brent. The pitch of feisty new gal Dawn Butler is catching the ear of Red Dave amid the general din. Admirers of the ex-union equality officer recalled Cameron's blushes when two bon mots, inaudible in the gallery, hit home on the floor: "He's got a fat arse" and "You're going bald." Perhaps not quite Churchillian, yet similarly effective. Word is, the men in tights are watching to catch the Babe of Brent open-mouthed.
In the week of the momentous US midterm elections, curiously omitted from No 10 apparatchik John McFixer's daily emails to MPs on political affairs was any mention of the, ahem, midterm elections. Alas, electronic epistles hide the stains of Downing Street tears, the bunkerists seemingly hoping the pain of Uncle George's thumping will recede if they pretend it never happened.
Murmurings, from my man in the flat cap, of funny business Oop North to save diminutive Hazel Blears, aka Mrs Pepperpot. Three seats are to be squeezed into two and the machine is trundling into action to secure one for Tony B's party chair. With grizzly Eccles MP Ian Stewart's supporters securing key posts in her Salford backyard, panicky powers-that-be ordered redrawn Worsley and Eccles South to select first, in the hope Stewart will pip Barbara Keeley and thus leave Salford and Eccles clear for Mrs Pepperpot. New Labour, old politics.
To the press gallery quiz where the gentlemen and gentlewoman of the Times finished second to last, spared the wooden spoon by a young Press Association team. Biggest surprise of the night was the triumph of the Express, a first accolade for the Dirty Des rag, not counting the award for most Diana front pages on a Monday.
Tony Benn has reworked a famous line now that son Hilary desires a Labour job which eluded his father. "I can stay in politics and spend more time with my family," puffed Benn on his pipe.
Kevin Maguire is associate editor (politics) of the Daily Mirror
