Quintin Jardine's blog

If I was Lynton Crosby, or whoever is pouring honey into Theresa May’s ear, around three hours ago, I’d have said to her, ‘Okay this is what you do. You change into a severe dark trouser suit and fuck me shoes, you get your ass up to Cambridge as quietly as is possible, and at the very last minute you walk on stage, look Corbyn in the eye, say “Be careful what you wish for,” then do to him what you do every week in the Commons.

‘Then when he accuses you of being the Lady who’s for Turning, you smile and say, “No, Jeremy, I’m your flexible friend.” That will be enough; you can leave the debate to the rest of them .’

But it ain’t going to happen,