THERE are some moments, I am sure you have them, where you wonder: “What am I doing with my life?”
So it was when I found myself this week with my ear all but pressed against the door of a meeting of Scottish Labour MPs called after Anas Sarwar’s incendiary though impotent demand for Keir Starmer to quit as Prime Minister.
A few journalists from the Scottish media gathered in the corridor outside the Westminster committee room where the meeting took place on Tuesday afternoon.
We were met for the most part with stiff nods and forced smiles as MPs filtered in.
It took me back to the glory days of the chaotic downfall of the Tories, when I would occasionally find myself among a gang of hacks haunting meetings of the 1922 Committee.
Even in their death throes, the Tories could put on a decent show. There would be much thumping of tables and clapping between contributions and the gobbier among them would come out to give short statements to the press, while WhatsApp messages pinged to the better connected hacks with moles behind the closed door.
No such luck on Tuesday. Even the calloused-thumbed briefing warriors of Scottish Labour kept mum as they slipped into the committee room.
Nature abhors a vacuum. Compelled to try and work out what was going on, we used the gifts God gave us: our ears. Huddled beside the doors, we tapped notes into our phones to record what small snatches we could get from within.
Among the stranger aspects of the experience was Douglas Alexander dispatching his goons to the corridor, apparently to signal that MPs caught speaking to the press would have their cards marked.
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It worked. None who came out offered us much, other than the slightly cryptic announcement of backbencher Gordon McKee who said “we’re united” before disappearing into a lift.
But Alexander’s minions may have spent their time more profitably. If I may be so bold as to offer them – and any aspiring flunkies reading this – some advice: have a diversion tactic if you don’t want people eavesdropping.
Journalists are simple creatures, apt to be distracted. We were merely subject to a half-hearted attempt to shame us for listening in – a non-starter, journalists have no shame – before Alexander's goon squad retreated into sullen silence.
Perhaps they could have played music on their phones, blared Labour Party propaganda TikToks to fill the silence, performed an under-rehearsed but charming song and dance routine – anything!
But no. In the end, the details got out and they weren’t especially edifying. There was talk that attempts had been made to force MPs into agreeing a joint statement which amounted to nothing. Words did later came out in the name of the chair of the Scottish Labour group, Richard Baker. I've seen more worthwhile reading in a LibDem election leaflet.
All I can say I got from the experience was strain around my ears from muscles I didn’t know I had.
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