PMQs sketch: Angela Merkel's bazookas

After a month without, PMQs returns with LOLs, nurses and ... the economy.

It was when Sir Bufton Tufton rose and asked about Angela Merkel and her bazookas that you wondered if the future of the country really was in safe hands.

Some may point out that Sir B is a fictional character but that only makes it even harder to explain away Sir Peter Hannay Bailey Tapsell, Conservative MP for Louth and Horncastle.

Sir Peter, who doubles as Father of the House of Commons, is not apparently fictional but makes a good stab at it at every opportunity he gets.

And one such opportunity came earlier today when he found himself at Prime Ministers Questions with a bit of spare time on his hands.

PMQs returned to the parliamentary timetable today after an absence of almost a month to give MPs a bit of a break after they had a bit of a break for Easter six weeks ago and before they go off for a bit of a break for Whitsun in eight day's time.

Since they last got together the government has re-launched itself at least two more times, growth forecasts have again been down-graded, Tories and Lib Dems massacred in local elections and some of the Prime Minister's best mates sent up in front of the Leveson Inquiry.

With Dave himself due in the same dock soon, Labour with a double-digit lead in the polls and even Ed Miliband less nerdy than ever, the stage was set for a scintillating - if one-side - return to the fray.

Indeed the PM displayed a sickly pallor, if such a thing is possible beneath the expensive tan of someone who travels abroad as often as possible, as he arrived for the contest. His nervous demeanour was only matched by that of his Chancellor George Osborne, who clearly expected a kicking himself; but neither could match the appearance of Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg who looked as if tears were but one further slight snub away.

Time off usually imbues PMQs with that back-to-school excitement so beloved of many MPs but a few days of debates on the Queen's Speech seemed to have taken their toll and even the usual suspects took time to open their insults bags.

Having been roundly drubbed by Ed M at all appearances at the Despatch Box in recent months, Dave has been told by his advisors that he must get a grip on his temper and his tantrums.

And arriving with welcome news on the unemployment front he seemed in control as he batted away the Labour leader's early insults which themselves appeared to have been on holiday. But breeding will out and after a few fumbles Ed managed to re-locate the button which turns Dave into his alter-ego Harry Flashman and normal service was resumed.

Having dropped in references to Leveson and last week's exposure of his LOL texting tendencies by Rebekah Brooks (which Dave was at least  prepared for), Ed turned the screw.

Energetically aided and abetted by his own in-house bruiser Ed Balls, he moved on to the economy, dropped in the nurses, asked what the Prime Minister was on, and told him to calm down.

To be fair, Dave tried his best but you could see he will need a few more hours on the couch. Snacking on the PM has been a regular hors d'oeuvres on the Commons lunch menu for Labour in recent months. But it's also been a hidden pleasure for his Cabinet Ministers as well; happy to see him getting a slice of what he serves up to them regularly.

But most of the infamous faces were notable by their absence today - although reports were coming in of Home Secretary Theresa May taking serious abuse from the Police Federation, and Communities Secretary Eric Pickles had only managed to make his way to the end of the Front Bench.

With a re-shuffle now apparently imminent could it be that out-of-sight, out-of-mind may be the approach being taken by those on whose feet, if not careers, the Prime Minister has to trod as he makes his usually baleful exit from the Chamber.

All of which brings us untidily back to Sir Bufton. Or at least his presence on earth, Sir Peter, and his question about the German Chancellor and her bazookas.

Sir Peter, who has not been bothered by the the demands of high political office in his fifty-plus years as an MP, often makes interventions which soar above the heads of most of those present, and his latest was no exception.

The Prime Minister, noting the appearance of Angela Merkel amongst the words, chose to answer a question about Greece . . .

Photograph: Getty Images

Peter McHugh is the former Director of Programmes at GMTV and Chief Executive Officer of Quiddity Productions

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If there’s no booze or naked women, what’s the point of being a footballer?

Peter Crouch came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

At a professional league ground near you, the following conversation will be taking place. After an excellent morning training session, in which the players all worked hard, and didn’t wind up the assistant coach they all hate, or cut the crotch out of the new trousers belonging to the reserve goalie, the captain or some senior player will go into the manager’s office.

“Hi, gaffer. Just thought I’d let you know that we’ve booked the Salvation Hall. They’ll leave the table-tennis tables in place, so we’ll probably have a few games, as it’s the players’ Christmas party, OK?”

“FECKING CHRISTMAS PARTY!? I TOLD YOU NO CHRISTMAS PARTIES THIS YEAR. NOT AFTER LAST YEAR. GERROUT . . .”

So the captain has to cancel the booking – which was actually at the Salvation Go Go Gentlemen’s Club on the high street, plus the Saucy Sporty Strippers, who specialise in naked table tennis.

One of the attractions for youths, when they dream of being a footballer or a pop star, is not just imagining themselves number one in the Prem or number one in the hit parade, but all the girls who’ll be clambering for them. Young, thrusting politicians have similar fantasies. Alas, it doesn’t always work out.

Today, we have all these foreign managers and foreign players coming here, not pinching our women (they’re too busy for that), but bringing foreign customs about diet and drink and no sex at half-time. Rotters, ruining the simple pleasures of our brave British lads which they’ve enjoyed for over a century.

The tabloids recently went all pious when poor old Wayne Rooney was seen standing around drinking till the early hours at the England team hotel after their win over Scotland. He’d apparently been invited to a wedding that happened to be going on there. What I can’t understand is: why join a wedding party for total strangers? Nothing more boring than someone else’s wedding. Why didn’t he stay in the bar and get smashed?

Even odder was the behaviour of two other England stars, Adam Lallana and Jordan Henderson. They made a 220-mile round trip from their hotel in Hertfordshire to visit a strip club, For Your Eyes Only, in Bournemouth. Bournemouth! Don’t they have naked women in Herts? I thought one of the points of having all these millions – and a vast office staff employed by your agent – is that anything you want gets fixed for you. Why couldn’t dancing girls have been shuttled into another hotel down the road? Or even to the lads’ own hotel, dressed as French maids?

In the years when I travelled with the Spurs team, it was quite common in provincial towns, after a Saturday game, for players to pick up girls at a local club and share them out.

Like top pop stars, top clubs have fixers who can sort out most problems, and pleasures, as well as smart solicitors and willing police superintendents to clear up the mess afterwards.

The England players had a night off, so they weren’t breaking any rules, even though they were going to play Spain 48 hours later. It sounds like off-the-cuff, spontaneous, home-made fun. In Wayne’s case, he probably thought he was doing good, being approachable, as England captain.

Quite why the other two went to Bournemouth was eventually revealed by one of the tabloids. It is Lallana’s home town. He obviously said to Jordan Henderson, “Hey Hendo, I know a cool club. They always look after me. Quick, jump into my Bentley . . .”

They spent only two hours at the club. Henderson drank water. Lallana had a beer. Don’t call that much of a night out.

In the days of Jimmy Greaves, Tony Adams, Roy Keane, or Gazza in his pomp, they’d have been paralytic. It was common for players to arrive for training still drunk, not having been to bed.

Peter Crouch, the former England player, 6ft 7in, now on the fringes at Stoke, came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage