There is a school of thought that Prime Minister’s Questions is the most important half-hour in the week of our democracy: an opportunity to hold the government to account as it steers the ship of state across the ocean of history; a moment when the lowliest backbencher can challenge the highest in the land. But for most of us, it’s a chance to take the piss. 

Even the scandals that attend him are boring

The arrival of Keir Starmer in Downing Street has led to something of a crisis in this respect. After rich years of Theresa May besieged by her own MPs, or Boris Johnson sticking his hand down the back of his trousers in search of an answer, or Rishi Sunak loudly complaining about all the awful things his own government had allowed to happen, we have a prime minister who makes a virtue of his own dullness. 

Even the scandals that attend him are boring. The prime minister accepted pairs of glasses! He took his kids to see Taylor Swift! It’s not exactly naked swimming with the Russian naval attaché at Cliveden. Starmer’s scandals could only be more middle-aged if we learned that a donor had paid to remove the moss from his lawn. 

The latest iteration of the Swift Tickets Outrage also fails the test of comprehensibility. The ideal scandal is one that’s really easy to explain — “banned parties, had parties” — whereas BlueLightTaylorGate turns on the question of whether it is unreasonable for one of the most famous people in the world, who has been the subject of a recent credible terrorist threat, to get police protection. Apparently, this is one of the worst things that has happened in Britain since we lost Calais, but it’s not quite clear why. 

Still, we arrived expecting that Rishi Sunak might attempt a joke about it. Or perhaps, we thought, he might ask about the coming tax rises. In any event, it might be a bit of fun. Goodness knows we could all use some fun. 

The prime minister had some opening remarks. There was a tricky-to-negotiate tribute to Alex Salmond (do say: monumental figure; don’t say: nothing was ever proved), followed by an acknowledgement that it is the anniversary of the murder of Sir David Amess, a man still keenly missed on the Conservative benches (one of the many awful things about Johnson’s self-absorbed 731-page memoir is that it doesn’t even mention him). 

And then the leader of the opposition rose. What would he go for? Taylor or taxes? Spending or Swift? None of us had “Taiwan Strait”. Would, Sunak asked, the government tell Beijing to stop carrying out aggressive military exercises there? Starmer agreed that China is a bit of a problem. OK, Sunak asked, but did Starmer agree that it was bad that China had locked up the Hong Kong democracy campaigner Jimmy Lai? Yes, Starmer replied, he did. Fine, Sunak said, but would Starmer sanction Chinese businesses helping Russia’s invasion of Ukraine? Yes, Starmer said, he would. 

Up in the press gallery, we were moving from bafflement to despair. Obviously these sessions do sometimes involve performative agreement, but that is usually at a moment of national crisis. Down the frontbench from the prime minister, the health secretary Wes Streeting was looking delighted, if baffled. Was there a trap coming? 

There was, but it was a Sunak trap, which means it was slightly baffling and didn’t really go off. He wanted to know why Starmer hadn’t cracked down on foreign lobbyists. The answer, which Starmer didn’t actually give, was presumably: “For the same reason that you didn’t when you were sitting here.” 

As last week, the prime minister had come along with a prepared answer about the wickedness of the last government, and Sunak didn’t quite give him a chance to use it. And as last week, Starmer just used it anyway. 

We had, we were realising, stumbled into the dullest session of Prime Minister’s Questions in history. Streeting was typing on his phone, David Lammy was scrolling on his. Rachel Reeves had been sitting motionless next to her leader, and at first it seemed she was trying not to display any reaction to questions about tax and spend. As time went on, we began to wonder if she had been lulled into a Starmer-induced coma. 

How bad was it? It was this bad: answering a Tory MP, Starmer actually used the word “notwithstanding”. During a question about dentistry, the thought occurred that a recording of the session could be offered as an anaesthetic. 

If Labour MPs are reading this, please work on better scandals. Deliver more entertaining chaos. Sketchwriters need your help.