David Cameron speaks during a visit to Kingsmead School on February 2, 2015. Photograph: Getty Images.
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PMQs review: Cameron rides roughshod over Miliband again

The Tory leader's exuberant confidence allowed him to dominate the chamber. 

The Tories are purring with confidence at the moment. Their dominance of the media war and new-found unity means that they are scenting victory (even as the polls continue to show them neck-and-neck with Labour or slightly behind). 

The evidence of this was on display at today's PMQs. Ed Miliband asked David Cameron about preferential tax treatment for hedge funds (they are not required to pay stamp duty on their share transactions), linking the policy to the Tories' industry donors. But Cameron swatted his question away with effortless superiority. He questioned why "for 13 years, during many of which he was in the Treasury, they did absolutely nothing about this", before declaring, in reference to Ed Balls's Newsnight interview: "I have to say I'm delighted he's raised the economy on the morning after his shadow chancellor couldn't name one single business leader who backed Labour." 

At this point, the well-drilled Tory backbenches began chanting in unison: "Bill, Bill" and "Where's Bill?" (the first name of the business leader Balls almost remembered). Their barracking  persisted throughout Miliband's second question and they were rewarded with a first-rate Cameron gag: "Do you know what he said, Mr Speaker? He said: 'Bill Somebody.' Mr Speaker, Bill Somebody’s not a person; Bill somebody is Labour’s policy." Cheers erupted behind him. The Labour benches, meanwhile, already becalmed by the grim news from Scotland, were deathly silent. 

Miliband fought valiantly on, pressing Cameron to answer, but the PM had too much ammunition in reserve: the confusion over Labour's tuition fees policy, the tax avoidance of their donor John Mills, even the news that "the person who wrote that 'Things Can Only Get Better' says it no longer applies to Labour." The only moment of relief for Miliband came when he archly observed, as George Osborne sought to brief Cameron on tax policy: "You can't help him, George, you're too far away". 

But while the Labour leader was routed in the chamber, he can hope that Cameron's evasiveness hurts the PM in the country. His refusal to pledge to close the tax loophole (as Labour has done) risks reinforcing the Tories' reputation as the party of the rich (the greatest barrier to a majority). As they deride Labour's weaknesses, the Conservatives would do well not to forget their own. 

Outside of the main exchanges, a notable moment came when Labour MP and shadow justice minister Dan Jarvis questioned Cameron about support for a solar panel business in his Barnsley constituency. The respectful silence with which he was heard was a good example of why many believe he could one day lead his party. 

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Brexit confusion is scuppering my show – what next?

My week, from spinning records with Baconface, Brexit block and visiting comedy graves.

I am a stand-up comedian, and I am in the process of previewing a new live show, which I hope to tour until early 2018. It was supposed to be about how the digital, free-market society is reshaping the idea of the individual, but we are in the pre-Brexit events whirlpool, and there has never been a worse time to try to assemble a show that will still mean anything in 18 months’ time.



A joke written six weeks ago about dep­orting eastern Europeans, intended to be an exaggeration for comic effect, suddenly just reads like an Amber Rudd speech – or, as James O’Brien pointed out on LBC, an extract from Mein Kampf.

A rude riff on Sarah Vine and 2 Girls 1 Cup runs aground because there are fewer people now who remember Vine than recall the briefly notorious Brazilian video clip. I realise that something that gets a cheer on a Tuesday in Harrogate, or Glasgow, or Oxford, could get me lynched the next night in Lincoln. Perhaps I’ll go into the fruit-picking business. I hear there’s about to be some vacancies.



I sit and stare at blocks of text, wondering how to knit them into a homogeneous whole. But it’s Sunday afternoon, a time for supervising homework and finding sports kit. My 11-year-old daughter has a school project on the Victorians and she has decided to do it on dead 19th-century comedians, as we had recently been on a Music Hall Guild tour of their graves at the local cemetery. I wonder if, secretly, she wished I would join them.

I have found living with the background noise of this project depressing. The headstones that she photographed show that most of the performers – even the well-known Champagne Charlie – barely made it past 40, while the owners of the halls outlived them. Herbert Campbell’s obelisk is vast and has the word “comedian” written on it in gold leaf, but it’s in the bushes and he is no longer remembered. Neither are many of the acts I loved in the 1980s – Johnny Immaterial, Paul Ramone, the Iceman.



I would have liked to do some more work on the live show but, one Monday a month, I go to the studios of the largely volunteer-run arts radio station Resonance FM in Borough, south London. Each Wednesday night at 11pm, the masked Canadian stand-up comedian Baconface presents selections from his late brother’s collection of 1950s, 1960s and 1970s jazz, psychedelia, folk, blues and experimental music. I go in to help him pre-record the programmes.

Baconface is a fascinating character, whom I first met at the Cantaloupes Comedy Club in Kamloops in British Columbia in 1994. He sees the radio show as an attempt to atone for his part in his brother’s death, which was the result of a prank gone wrong involving nudity and bacon, though he is often unable to conceal his contempt for the music that he is compelled to play.

The show is recorded in a small, hot room and Baconface doesn’t change the bacon that his mask is made of very often, so the experience can be quite claustrophobic. Whenever we lose tapes or the old vinyl is too warped to play, he just sits back and utters his resigned, philosophical catchphrase, “It’s all bacon!” – which I now find myself using, as I watch the news, with ­depressing regularity.



After the kids go to sleep, I sit up alone and finally watch The Lady in the Van. Last year, I walked along the street in Camden where it was being filmed, and Alan Bennett talked to me, which was amazing.

About a month later, on the same street, we saw Jonathan Miller skirting some dog’s mess and he told me and the kids how annoyed it made him. I tried to explain to them afterwards who Jonathan Miller was, but to the five-year-old the satire pioneer will always be the Shouting Dog’s Mess Man.



I have the second of the final three preview shows at the intimate Leicester Square Theatre in London before the new show, Content Provider, does a week in big rooms around the country. Today, I was supposed to do a BBC Radio 3 show about improvised music but both of the kids were off school with a bug and I had to stay home mopping up. In between the vomiting, in the psychic shadow of the improvisers, I had something of a breakthrough. The guitarist Derek Bailey, for example, would embrace his problems and make them part of the performance.



I drank half a bottle of wine before going on stage, to give me the guts to take some risks. It’s not a long-term strategy for creative problem-solving, and that way lies wandering around Southend with a pet chicken. But by binning the words that I’d written and trying to repoint them, in the moment, to be about how the Brexit confusion is blocking my route to the show I wanted to write, I can suddenly see a way forward. The designer is in, with samples of a nice coat that she is making for me, intended to replicate the clothing of the central figure in Caspar David Friedrich’s 1818 German masterpiece Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog.



Richard Branson is on the internet and, just as I’d problem-solved my way around writing about it, he’s suggesting that Brexit might not happen. I drop the kids off and sit in a café reading Alan Moore’s new novel, Jerusalem. I am interviewing him about it for the Guardian in two weeks’ time. It’s 1,174 pages long, but what with the show falling apart I have read only 293 pages. Next week is half-term. I’ll nail it. It’s great, by the way, and seems to be about the small lives of undocumented individuals, buffeted by the random events of their times.

Stewart Lee’s show “Content Provider” will be on in London from 8 November. For more details, visit: stewartlee.co.uk

This article first appeared in the 27 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, American Rage