Amid the hoo-haa of recent weeks we expected terse silence, a froideur chilly enough to make Parliament’s pipes freeze and its chandeliers tinkle.
Instead, the atmosphere between Boris Johnson and Sir Keir Starmer as they headed to the Lords to join the assorted claret gurglers, toffs, quangocrats and downright wrong ‘uns that make up the red benches was surprisingly convivial.
Dare I say it, matey even. For six months, the pair have been at each other’s gullets.
Beergate, Partygate, who ate…
