QUENTIN LETTS: Eyelashes Andy lifted his prominent jaw and spoke without notes, lectern or discernible policy. His memorised lines were nothing more than fluff and boiler-plate baloney...

By QUENTIN LETTS, PARLIAMENTARY SKETCHWRITER Published: 15:44, 20 July 2026 | Updated: 16:37, 20 July 2026 Our 59th Prime Minister sauntered through the door of 10 Downing Street after the usual palaver: a ride in an armour-plated Range Rover, ‘kissing hands’ at the Palace and then a speech – five minutes of fluff – in front of his new residence. Andy Burnham spoke without notes, lectern or discernible policy. The only solid undertaking was to stop rough-sleeping. The rest was boiler-plate baloney about this being a time for hope and pulling together, blah blah. ‘Common purpose’ he said. There is a sinister charity called that. Conspiracy theorists will be agog. Eyelashes Andy, for once suited, was all spectacle frames and Jaws grin, a touch sweaty at the temples when he shook the King’s hand. Buck House has the builders in, so the appointment was held in a different room from normal. The Burnhams arrived via the Palace’s Laundry Door, where in old days the royal smalls were left for the cleaners. Charles was awaiting him in the Chinese dining room, all chinoiserie and – well, well – porcelain peacocks. The room’s wallpaper recently needed changing after it became too acidic. The same can happen with prime ministers. This changeover day was a little different in other ways, too. Departing PMs tend to bite on their lips and blink back tears. This one seemed delighted to be going. Sir Keir Starmer was determined to behave like a man who had won the lottery. The message had gone out ‘we don’t want Keir to look like a failure’. Another golden London day helped that. ‘My work is done,’ chirruped the nasal knight as he took his leave of us in front of a No10 whose brickwork glowed grey-blue in the sunlight. He was framed by an enthusiastic crowd of friends and allies, among them little Lord Hermer and even littler Sir Sadiq Khan. The Mayor of London did a lot of fiddling with his face. Wouldn’t stop stroking his chin. All around were gushy women in summer frocks and floppy hats, one or two of the men in panamas. Sir Keir’s time as PM was ending with a festival air. Good on him for going, as he put it, with ‘good grace’. He added: ‘I go with a smile.’ Andrew Lloyd Webber could turn that into a lovely deathbed number. The only person who was having trouble looking happy was Rachel Reeves, the leaky hose of British politics. She was standing behind Sir Keir and towards the end of his soaring adieu, as the strings surged and Sir Keir clutched two hands to his chest, Rachel’s chin started to crumple. Quick, sandbags! Sir Keir was whisked to the Palace before he could change his mind. He arrived just as they were changing the guard, the band of the Welsh Guards playing The Cybermen theme from Doctor Who. After resigning he left by a back gate, one hopes to a long and healthy retirement, even if his claims to have left the country in a better state were palpable nonsense. Were that true, he would not have been binned. Andy Burnham spoke without notes, lectern or discernible policy, writes Quentin Letts. The only solid undertaking was to stop rough-sleeping Earlier, Sir Keir was framed by an enthusiastic crowd of friends and allies, among them little Lord Hermer and even littler Sir Sadiq Khan, writes Quentin In Downing Street the floral dresses were soon replaced by a drabber crowd of Burnham supporters, more of this lot being in monochrome outfits. Broader in the beam, too. Some of the men did that thing of not tucking in their shirts. Liverpool mayor Steve Rotheram was holding a new grandchild. Mr Burnham’s mother was in the throng. ITN’s Robert Peston, in the media pen, at least brought some colour to proceedings with a pair of purple training shoes. Labour donor Dale Vince, he of the silly haircut and militant eco views, vouchsafed his peculiar presence. He was in some sort of vegan T-shirt. The three-car motorcade bringing the new PM from his 35-minute audience at the Palace was held up for a few seconds in Trafalgar Square. When it disgorged Mr and Mrs Burnham at the bottom of Downing Street there was an orgy of cheers and namastes and Tellytubby hugs. Former Everton footballer Peter Reid was behaving as if he had just scored a goal. Also there was Josh Simons, the former Labour MP who vacated his Makerfield seat for Mr Burnham. Young Simons is now tipped for a £100,000 government job. How lucky we are to have such a principled slider on our payroll. Finally, Mr Burnham detached himself from the group hug and approached a low-slung microphone stand to make a five-minute speech to the nation. He began with a Trump-style clench of the right fist and a reflection that it might be time for some stability at No10. Well of course he’d say that now that he’s in charge. He blamed the 1980s for damaging our country. He said that ‘later this year’ he would produce a ‘new ten-year plan’. He also mentioned mental health, at which point some loony at the gates to Downing Street resumed singing the EU anthem, Ode To Joy, in a lusty baritone. When speaking, Eyelashes lifted his prominent jaw not unlike a boxer dog. He pushed back his spectacles and shouted out his memorised lines. At other times he has a tendency to drop his head to the ground. He also did a lot of clutching hold of wife Frankie. It was time for their pose by No10’s gleaming door. Once inside they were greeted by the Cabinet Secretary, Dame Antonia Romeo. She introduced Mr Burnham to one of her sidekicks, who duly bowed. Then it was off to write ‘letters of last resort’, telling our nuclear submarine commanders what to do in the event of an apocalypse. If we last that long.