This article is from the January 2012 issue of Total Politics

I view mail from readers with some trepidation and it’s the wafer-thin envelopes that I fear the most. I know that, nside, there will be no letter, only my sketch, snipped from The Times, with a pithy comment scrawled over it. One of the latest had this written on it: “What on earth is flatlining?” What indeed. Wikipedia says a flatline is an electrical time sequence measurement that shows no activity. It says that flatlining is usually linked to death. Yikes. This needs urgent updating: “Flatlining: a hand gesture from Ed Balls, made with smirk and flat hand, to indicate a dire economy and repeated constantly to drive Tory politicians insane.”

 

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I spend too much time worrying about verbification. I used to know people who couldn’t stop themselves from subbing menus. Then there are those obsessed by the use of apostrophes in signs. I escaped those maladies only to be struck down by an aversion to the modern scourge of verbification. Recently I came across ‘to long-grass’. Argh. Send in the snakes! But, surely, Wee Dougie Alexander deserves some sort of Bad Context Award (like the Bad Sex Award but without any risk of seeing a belly-button) for this: “Constant talk of vetoes, a tendency to empty-chair those meetings that seem to be on the periphery of our interest.” I feel that the verb ‘to empty-chair’ should be illegal for so many reasons.

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Because I have a new book out, I am under a mandate to say yes to all media appearances, no matter what the subject. There is no empty-chairing for me! Thus I found myself on Woman’s Hour explaining how to have an ex-pat Thanksgiving in Britain. Serendipitously, the day before, I had been at the hairdressers (if you don’t empty-chair, you need good hair, even on radio) and found an American Good Housekeeping magazine with pages devoted to the great turkey meal, including a recipe for pumpkin mousse. Now, for years, I have been the only one eating the pumpkin pie at my Thanksgiving feast. And this mousse thing looked thrillingly gourmet. Of course, I had to tell Woman’s Hour all about it. For the next week people kept asking me about the mousse and so I felt obliged to make the damn thing. I am happy to report that everyone ‘moussed’ and thought it nice as pie.

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Once we’ve pumpkined, it’s time to mince pie and with that comes the inevitable glut of ‘Year in Review’ pieces. In terms of sketchwriting, I am not sure what the peak could have been. I did so enjoy that frozen day last winter when George Osborne stood in front of those dead twigs and claimed the snow had killed the economy. Then there was the AV referendum count at the egregious, echoing ExCel Centre where we hacks were so desperate that we fell on Simon Hughes as if he were an actual celebrity. Other ‘highlights’ would include Dave’s impersonation of Flashman at PMQs, Nick’s various attempts to be his own man, Gordo’s raging bull moment over hacking and Wonder Wendi decking that guy with the pie. It has been a weird year.

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I have decided to start my very own award: Lickspittle of the Year. My shortlist for 2011 are all Tories though there is, gender police rejoice, a woman. This is the hyper enthusiastic Claire Perry who, for some reason, I always think of as being attached to the word ‘spit-spot’. Then there is the immensely agreeable Charlie Elphicke, never knowingly caught without something gushing to say about Tory policy. It’s like turning on a tap. Last, but certainly not least, is the ferociously loyal Nadhim Zahawi, whom I have been fond of ever since his musical tie went berserk while he was giving a speech. What a contest!

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If I were giving a Character of the Year award, I’d hand it over to Jacob Rees-Mogg (aka The Mogg), a man who always seems to have stepped out of the nineteenth century. Both Labour and Tories cheer him as he gives us his vintage views. Most recently he urged Dave to follow Reagan’s example over sacking striking air traffic controllers. Surely, Jeremy Clarkson could learn a thing or two from The Mogg. A runner-up would have to be Mr Speaker, who can never be accused of empty-chairing the Commons. I found his new coat of arms with its rainbows and tennis references utterly riveting. But surely he missed something out: bedsheets. Now there’s a verbification – ‘to bedsheet’ which has to mean ‘to expose oneself unnecessarily’ – waiting to happen.

Ann Treneman is the sketchwriter for The Times. Her book Dave & Nick: The Year of the Honeymoon is out now (The Robson Press, £14.99)

Tags: Ann treneman, David Cameron, Ed Balls, George Osborne, Issue 43, Jacob Rees-Mogg, Thanksgiving, The Times