PMQs sketch: Cameron gets pulled back into the doldrums

Miliband decided to split the torture in two today.

One of the great mysteries of modern politics is how the leader of the Labour Party manages to smuggle a sharp pointy stick past Commons security every week to poke the Prime Minister. Ed produced it with his usual flourish just after noon today and proceeded to chase Dave around the dispatch box for the 30 minutes of the fun known to regulars as Prime Minister's Questions.

We all know the PM has been in the doldrums since the Chancellor produced THAT budget six months ago, but each week he hopes to recover. In fact, so good, relatively speaking, were last week's economic indicators that he had high hopes this would be his week. But such is the disarray within Tory ranks the every time he thinks he's about to climb out of the smelly stuff one of his own pulls him back in again.

You could tell treachery was afoot by the volume of support he got from his own side during today's spat with Ed Miliband over that most unifying of party policies - Europe. The latest row is over a planned increase in the EU budget, which has Tory sceptics snarling and ready to force a vote this evening demanding it be cut instead. Spotting this passing bandwagon, Labour climbed on board leaving Dave, as Ed was happy to point out, with only his embarrassment to keep him warm.

With Ed and his cohorts ready to join Tory rebels in the lobby this evening, the sound of support for the PM from those who intend to vote against him doubled in decibels, leading Speaker Bercow to call for calm. But there was even more pleasure on the opposition benches as the Speaker took his own opportunity to remind Dave that PMQs were not questions from the PM but for him."I've told him ten times," he said as Dave slumped in his seat.

Normally, Ed takes his full six questions to turn the screw as tightly as possible on the PM, who seems to have abandoned any attempt to hang on to his temper. But he decided to split the torture in two today, leaving Dave sweating over the second bout as he paid lip service to MPs whose questions filled the gap. To Labour's great pleasure, the day had begun with another clash between the coalition partners over energy policy. Just last week, the Lib Dem Energy Secretary, Ed Davey, had gone into a major sulk when Dave announced plans for energy companies to give everyone the lowest tariffs - although he didn't really mean it. 

Well, Davey had his bottom lip way out again today when one of his Tory juniors appeared to announce the end of the Lib Dem plan for renewable supplies by sticking a wind farm on every street corner. What was the policy, demanded Miliband, and none of your business was the reply. But even Dave knew this was merely another pre-lunch taster on the way to the main course.

Six months ago, when Chancellor George was still in the game, he commissioned Michael Heseltine to take a look at the economy in a move intended to demonstrate his confidence in criticism. And so it was with some pleasure that Miliband read out this paragraph from Lord Hezza's conclusions: "The message I keep hearing is that the the UK does not have a strategy for growth and wealth creation."

George stared off into the space reserved for those who have uttered the immortal phrase, "beam me up Scotty", only to find out it does not work. By now, the volume button had been turned up so high that the Speaker uttered the dire warning that if it continued they would be kept back after class. The thought of being late for lunch clearly worked, and MPs headed off to work out how to vote on Europe later. Dave looked like someone planning a sandwich at his desk.

David Cameron poses on the door of number 10 Downing Street after buying his remembrance poppy from army officers. Photograph: Getty Images.

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

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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

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 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism