Monday morning plans were quietly binned, the Yorkshire trip abandoned, and instead the press was summoned to Downing Street at speed.
Officially, the topic was Greenland. In practice, everyone knew this was really about Donald Trump and another transatlantic wobble.
Sir Keir Starmer emerged not with gusto but with the air of a man who’d rather be elsewhere.
The Prime Minister’s Different Face
This wasn’t the familiar Commons persona, the one that thrives on theatrical outrage and ritual condemnation.
This was something else. His expression was flatter, more weary, less rehearsed.
He blinked a lot, spoke slowly, and seemed weighed down by irritation rather than moral certainty.
Underneath the puddingy delivery, you could feel the strain.
Words That Wouldn’t Quite Behave
It wasn’t a polished performance. Phrases tripped him up. “Matter” came out as “meta”.
Denmark was briefly promoted to the “Denmark Kingdom”.
The slips felt less like ignorance and more like exhaustion — the aftermath of a weekend spent glued to crisis calls, prompted by yet another White House flare-up.
Nato, Once an Idea, Now a Question Mark
Sir Keir insisted that Nato would endure. He had to.
But the strength of the alliance was never just tanks and treaties; it was the shared belief that the West stood together.
That belief now looks battered.
Decades of Cold War effort, unravelled by a single presidential sulk and a metaphorical kick of princess-grade footwear.
Staying on Speaking Terms with Washington
The Prime Minister worked hard to sound connected.
He spoke of regular conversations with President Trump, of aides in constant touch with key figures in the administration.
He stressed “pragmatic” diplomacy and said he didn’t believe Trump would actually invade Greenland.
Hope, in other words, was still being deployed as a strategy.
Bazookas, Panzerfausts and Slogans
A reporter raised the EU’s talk of retaliatory tariffs — the so-called “bazooka”.
With Germany involved, one might argue for a different bit of military kit altogether.
Sir Keir, though, wanted calm. Trade wars, he suggested, help no one.
Then came the line destined for merchandise: Britain, he said, prefers “solutions to slogans”. Expect it on a mug before the week is out.
A Quiet Despair Beneath the Diplomacy
There was fatigue in his tone, but no hint of regret about previous Trump-friendly overtures.
He returned again to the unspoken reality: America controls Britain’s nuclear deterrent.
When someone else has their finger near your button, contrition is a luxury.
The Lords Discover the Crisis
By mid-afternoon, the House of Lords was stirring.
Lady Chapman, sent to handle an urgent question, offered a telling phrase: “This is happening in real time.”
Which sounded suspiciously like an admission that no one had yet located a plan.
Davos Looms, with Familiar Faces
Lord Ahmad pushed for an emergency Nato meeting, timed neatly around Trump’s expected appearance at Davos.
Nigel Farage will be there too, despite his long habit of mocking the alpine elite jamboree.
He popped up on Abingdon Green earlier, eager to put daylight between himself and his presidential pal — before heading off to complain in person.
Sand in the Engine Room
Lady Goldie, booming like a Renfrewshire foghorn, declared that Trump had lobbed “a bucket of sand into the engine room” of Nato.
Others followed suit. A tieless Liberal Democrat fluttered about World Trade Organisation rules.
A Tory frontbencher called Trump mad
. The Bishop of Manchester suggested more diplomats for Greenland, a proposal that conjured images of frozen earnestness slowly turning blue.
Gummy Peers and Visiting Americans
The Earl of Kinnoull revealed that Mike Johnson, Speaker of the US House of Representatives, would soon be meeting peers.
One imagines him being gently nibbled by elderly parliamentarians, earnest questions gumming away with missionary zeal.
Evening Reactions in the Commons
As night fell, Yvette Cooper arrived to say, crisply, that allies shouldn’t be treated this way.
Sir Ed Davey argued that flattery had achieved nothing.
Emily Thornberry reported that a friend had cried watching the morning press conference.
That felt a touch melodramatic. It wasn’t a triumph, but it wasn’t a tragedy either.
A Dog, a Garden, and a Lesson in Strategy
If advice were needed on how to handle Trump, I’d offer a canine parable.
Our neighbours once had a Jack Russell called Buzz, ancient and stone deaf.
When he wandered into our garden, our own dogs would erupt — snarling, snapping, performing outrage inches from his nose.
Buzz never reacted. He just stood there, silent, immovable. Eventually, the noise burned itself out.
They’re all gone now, sadly. I miss them. But Buzz had it right.
Sometimes the most effective response is to say nothing at all.
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