mick

So Lady Warsi has had a go at Douglas Murray. Her charge: that Murray "denigrates our brave men and women", and does it for "pathetic political point scoring". She called it "utter BS", sneered at the Spectator for platforming him, and sniffed that Michael Portillo "just listens and nods". What Murray actually said, on that podcast, was that successive governments have let alleged jihadists settle in Britain while dragging our own soldiers through the courts. The SAS hounded by lawyers. The jihadist handed a council house. She called the defence of the forces an attack on the forces. Which tells you how she argues. She does not hear the point. She hears the tone, checks who is speaking, and reacts. Then out comes the rank. Former cabinet member. Former national security council member. Former foreign minister. Granddaughter of two men who served, family serving today. All true. None of it a policy. The Spectator, incidentally, had her number years ago. Its verdict: the most over-promoted, incapable and incompetent minister of recent times. So when this government goes, and a new lot arrive, they will not be bringing you in. They will be opening your file. Walked out over Gaza and never really stopped. Turned on David Cameron, the only man who ever believed in her. Tore up the Conservative whip and announced her own party had gone "far right". Every interview, every column, every argument, ends in the same place. And it is not here. Disloyal. Ungrateful. Thin-skinned. Always the victim, never the author. And not one of us. She thrashes our side, then borrows our dead to make her case. She holds a seat for life that nobody voted for, and we do not want her in it. The next government won't have your back, Lady Warsi. They will have your file.

The Home Secretary has read the internet and she is not impressed. "Some chatter on social media would have you believe that crime is out of control," says Shabana Mahmood. Chatter. That is you. And her facts, she says, come from a Substack. A columnist's blog, dressed up as the record. Then the selection. Four numbers down. Violence lowest since 1981. Robbery at a record low. Crime down 78% since 1995. Knife crime down 11%. Now the ones she skipped. Rape, 74,700 last year and rising. Sexual offences up. Domestic abuse up. Business robbery up by two thirds. Fraud up. Cybercrime up. Hate crime up. And here is why the falling ones fall. Seven crimes in a hundred end in a charge. Under three rapes in a hundred do. 74,700 rapes and barely 2,000 charges. So the numbers drop because nobody is caught. You cannot hide a body. Everything else is a form and a survey of people remembering. The credit claim is the giveaway. 1995 was John Major. 1981 was Thatcher. She has claimed the uniparty's entire record on behalf of a party two years in the job. And her own flagship, the grooming gangs inquiry, was announced last December and does not sit until 31 March. The scandal broke in 2011. Fifteen years to reach the start line, and a £100m pot for the men who did it. She calls it chatter. 74,700 rapes and 97 in a hundred ending with nobody charged. The chatter was right, Home Secretary. Start listening to it.

Richard Corbett has found a principle. Eighteen years an MEP. Four more advising the President of the European Council. Twenty two years inside the machine, never once elected by a British seat. Now, at seventy one, a Rejoiner with a view on democracy. He was answering Nile Gardiner, who says the British people had their say ten years ago. Corbett says a country that cannot change its mind is not a democracy. He should know. He wrote the textbook. Not a figure of speech, he is the co-author of the actual book, nine editions of it, on how the European Parliament works. And that institution has a method for changing a country's mind. Ireland, 2001, then again in 2002. Denmark, 1992, then again in 1993. Ireland, 2008, then again in 2009. Vote, lose, vote again, pass. That is not a nation changing its mind. That is a schoolmaster handing back the paper until it is right. So ask again, by all means. Ten years gone and the poll still wobbles. The others only needed a year between attempts. Hush. There will be no further blow. To strike you now would be to admit you still mattered. We shall simply walk over the heap you have made of yourself, smooth the wrist, and keep time with the march. Britain does not kneel to ask a rodent if it is ready.