Full Time at the Dispatch Box

15 July 2026 | Rob Fellows

There’s a moment in football when a veteran midfielder walks off for the last time. The crowd knows it. The players know it. Even the opposition gives a quiet nod. Keir Starmer’s final PMQs had a bit of that about it. A farewell, certainly, but also an acceptance that his time as leader had reached its conclusion.

Kemi Badenoch probably had one of her stronger outings. She stuck to her game plan, avoided chasing headlines and looked more composed than we’ve sometimes seen. If the Conservatives are rebuilding, this is probably the sort of performance they’ll want to see more of—focused, disciplined and asking questions that actually land.

What struck me most was the tone. By the standards of PMQs it was unusually respectful and reflective. There were political blows, of course, but there was also an acknowledgement across the Chamber that this was the end of an era. With Andy Burnham about to become Leader of the Labour Party and Prime Minister, there was an unmistakable sense that one chapter was closing and another was about to begin. The repeated references to the Right Honourable Member for Makerfield simply reinforced that feeling.

It is also worth remembering what many around Westminster seem to have forgotten. When Starmer took over, Labour had just suffered its worst election defeat since 1935 and many questioned whether the party would return to power for a generation. Whatever view you take of his premiership, he rebuilt Labour’s credibility, made the party electable again and turned a crushing defeat into a landslide majority. That is no small political achievement, even if some of those who owe their seats to that victory now seem remarkably quick to move on.

It felt a bit like a footballer’s testimonial. Everyone knew who would be wearing the captain’s armband next season. The afternoon wasn’t really about that. It was about recognising the contribution of the man leaving the pitch.

Then came the closing moments.

Starmer’s final exchange was with Carolyn Harris, one of his closest friends and longest-standing supporters. It was genuinely emotional. Reflecting on his time in frontline politics, he simply said, “This is the end of my political journey.” He also left the Commons with a simple test by which he believed every Prime Minister should be judged: whether they leave the country in better shape than they found it. He believed he had done that. History, of course, will deliver the final verdict.

Politics rarely shows that side of itself.

Harris persuaded Starmer to stand for the Labour leadership in 2020 and went on to co-chair his campaign. Their friendship stretches back to when they were both first elected to Parliament—long before either held real influence. I’m fortunate enough to count Carolyn as a friend myself, and I’ve seen first-hand the loyalty she shows to the people she believes in. In a profession built on shifting alliances and fleeting allegiances, that kind of loyalty is rare.

Andy Burnham will soon discover that leadership has a habit of shrinking your circle. The phone calls become more selective, the leaks begin, and people you thought were firmly in your camp suddenly become a little harder to find. Every leader hopes they have a Carolyn Harris in their corner. Not everyone does.

For me, that was the lasting image of the afternoon. Not a killer line, not a viral moment, but one friend making sure another left the stage with dignity.

Politics could probably do with a little more of that.