Michael White, PMQs and the Gordon-gasp: a day in Westminster

The sky was generously clear as I strode out of Westminster tube station on Wednesday morning, a slightly-too-large suit on my back and a pleasant soup of anticipation and nerves in my stomach. I was on my way to meet a true heavyweight of British journalism, the man whose stern face has looked out at the nation from pages of The Guardian for the past 30 years - former political editor and CiF blogger, Mr. Michael White.

Even more exciting was where Mike had proposed to take me - into the heart of power, the Houses of Parliament, to witness the weekly Punch and Judy show that is Prime Minister’s Questions.

There has always been something about Gordon Brown that puts the creeps up me, and perched up in the press gallery of the House of Commons (it’s rather like being in the upper reaches of a church, complete with intermittent sunlight cascading through ornate glass-work), I finally figured out what it is.

It’s the ‘Gordon-gasp’ – an unhelpful mannerism that in all but our most high-profile of public servants would be indecorous to mention, an open-mouthed chin-wobble that appears at the end of his every sentence as though the man is momentarily aghast at the very words that have tumbled out of his mouth.

Opposite, of course, was Cameron – a man-child with whom I share a poverty of facial hair (if precious little else). It’s hard to be taken seriously when your complexion is like the inside of an egg-shell.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed when the leader of the opposition used up his entire quota of questions to make the same futile request:

“Will the right honourable gentlemen please explain what he meant, when he said calling a general election now would bring about ‘chaos’?!”

The Gordon-gasp centred its self so the PM could counter: “Well a Tory government in power would certainly bring about chaos for this country!”

That familiar Commons laughter – not false exactly, but putting unnecessary strain on the diaphragm – rippled through the backbenches.

“Ah-ha!” retorted the shimmering chin, “So the right honourable gentleman finally admits he would probably lose a general election!”

As Mr. White informed me, this sort of baiting is the standard behaviour from an opposition on the front foot. Certainly of all the main leaders, Cameron has emerged the slightly-less sullied of the three having last week been first to strongly condemn his own MPs for their roles in the ongoing expenses scandal.

Nick Clegg on the other hand had led the mob in sharpening their pitch-forks for Michael Martin, the now lame-duck Speaker – making his Q to the PM something of a dramatic highlight. His attempt to pay tribute to the beleaguered Scot (Martin, not Brown) was met with a predictable chorus of jeers. In either a demonstration of the incompetency many feel has characterised his stewardship or a wily sense of revenge, the Speaker then appeared to forget to allow Clegg his supplementary question, much to everyone’s amusement. It helped break some of the tension that seemed to grip the House, rather like the affectionate teasing a parent might indulge in to rescue the atmosphere after a family row.

After PMQs, my first work experience experience (unless you count a week photocopying at Morpeth Council aged 13) continued apace. At one point I sat in The Guardian’s backstage office with several of Mr. White’s colleagues (listening to the equally formidable Simon Hoggart lampoon senior politicians live felt rather like seeing David Beckham practise his free-kicks in his backyard) attempting to strike that fine balance between being helpful and not getting in the way. It reminded me of our own little newspaper office here at The Courier, only I wasn’t in charge and no one was blasting rap music from youtube on any of the computers.

In the afternoon I was whisked off to the House of Lords – a rather more opulent and sedate version of the Commons, in which rows and rows of elderly politicians (average age: 69) are cocooned in preparation for retirement. They were caught up in the same rare moment of contrite introspection that had subdued the green benches next door, but the real thrill for me was in following Mike through the corridors of power on the way there, watching him navigate the labyrinth of Westminster like it was his home, stopping occasionally to exact details from lobbyists or subtly mine MPs for their insights. It was surreally reminiscent of the scenes in the West Wing in which one of the characters storms through the hallways of the White House firing on all cylinders with their secretary taking notes by their side, only rather than engaging him in witty banter I focused squarely on trying not to trip over or accidently shut any door behind me in some Right Honourable face.

To round the day off I accompanied Mike to the studios of Sky News where, with barely a glance at the briefing, he went live on air to millions in order to answer questions about the day’s events. While the public and journalists alike are losing their heads a little about the ‘quiet revolution’ currently taking place in British politics (Jonathan Freeland ought to have worn a beret for his comment piece in The Guardian earlier this week), Mike is consistently less excitable about what I guess after thirty years in the game doesn’t seem quite as extraordinary as it may to the rest of us. He quickly dispensed of a colleague Sky had drafted in from another studio who got a bit carried away about Labour ‘losing one MP for every day the election is delayed’, as I, inches off-shot to his right, could only really look on and marvel.

Back outside, and after a handshake and a goodbye, I was left strolling along the Thames reflecting on a day in which I had glimpsed both professional heroes (personally speaking) and professional villains (nationally speaking) in the bowels of building that has dictated life in Britain since the Middle Ages.

The Times politely rejected me today for a place on their graduate scheme so my own route into ‘proper journalism’ remains stubbornly, exhilaratingly, obscured. What a day in Westminster has ensured is that no matter how arduous the next few years prove to be, the motivation to carry on will be that bit easier to find. It was a vision of what I am striving for rendered in real time, rather than abstraction.

For very different reasons indeed, I expect aspiring politicians (if there are any left) can look at this week of accumulating scandal and say the exact same thing. Whether inspired to emulate or antithesize, let's hope we all get to where we're trying to go - and do a good job, once we do.