QUENTIN LETTS: Blimey, what a Monday! But the nasal knight will dwell to honk one other day

When planning an assassination it is generally a good idea to make sure your pea-shooter is loaded.

At 2.30pm, from a grassy knoll in Glasgow, Scottish Labour leader Anas Sarwar tried to kill Sir Keir Starmer’s premiership. Telescopic sights. Day Of The Jackal moment.

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Bungler Sarwar pulled the trigger – and nothing happened. He’d goofed it.

Everything had been planned beautifully. Mr Sarwar was so proud of his plot that he let the Press know beforehand and even telephoned his ‘friend’ Sir Keir to tell him what he was going to do.

‘It’s fair to say, he and I disagreed,’ mumbled Mr Sarwar afterwards. The No 10 swear box is now heavy with pound coins.

Lesson two to would-be Gavrilo Princips: telling your victim what you intend to do is a bad idea. It makes them more likely to wear a bullet-proof jacket or, in the case of Sir Keir, to get David Lammy to begin a series of social media messages from Cabinet ministers expressing devotion to the PM. This happened a minute before Mr Sarwar started his speech in Glasgow.

Tim Allan, Sir Keir’s press secretary, was exploded, even while sitting at his desk. Just: BANG! And he was gone. Messy

Like many fanatics with a murderous glint in their eye, Mr Sarwar kept invoking his homeland. ‘MycountryScotland’ was how he put it. One word. ‘My first priority is to mycountryScotland.’

MycountryScotland was uttered six times during the assassination attempt. We will no doubt hear it again when Mr Sarwar is brought to Tyburn in a trundling cart.

Blimey, what a Monday. After Sunday’s Captain Oates moment by Downing Street’s chief poisoner Morgan McSweeney, the week began with an ominous silence from Cabinet ministers. Where had they all gone? The only junior minister who could be found to answer questions on the wireless was the education department’s Lady (Jacqui) Smith, 3rd XI material at best.

While the Cabinet plotted, we had another No 10 oopsie. Tim Allan, Sir Keir’s press secretary, was exploded, even while sitting at his desk. Just: BANG! And he was gone. Messy.

A British Airways flight simulator had been installed outside 12 Downing Street, traditional home of the Chief Whip. Who needed fake turbulence? Inside No 10, Sir Keir cancelled a planned speech on, of all things, political standards of behaviour. Instead he gave a pep talk to his staff, telling them ‘we go forward!’ As it happens, those were the words I said to my daughter Honor at her first driving lesson. Five seconds later she parked the Nissan Micra in Mrs Edwards’s hedge.

Sir Keir’s arrival turned no heads. He was just a small, silent figure, bereft of pomp, says our sketchwriter

Talk swirled of a ‘caretaker prime minister’. Even madder were rumours that Al Carns, a defence minister, might become PM, simply because he is muscular. He is so good at pull-ups that his head once put a dent in the ceiling of the parliamentary gym. Alas, Mr Carns is less fit up top. He is a clunker at the Commons despatch box and starts sentences with the word ‘myself’.

Back in Glasgow, Mr Sarwar was answering questions. He described Sir Keir as ‘someone I have a certain level of loyalty to’. He had literally just called for him to be toppled. But his mad bid to bump off Sir Keir was a failure. The flurry of ‘we support Starmer’ Tweets ensured that. Angela Rayner – deploring ‘party politics and factional games’, natch – said she did not want him out. Well, not yet. Barely a handful of Labour MPs attended a Commons statement on parliamentary standards and those who did looked crestfallen, but the nasal knight would live to honk and cronk another day.

It was just before 6pm when Sir Keir arrived at a Commons meeting with his MPs and peers. His arrival turned no heads. He was just a small, silent figure, bereft of pomp. As unprepossessing as a librarian heading to the stacks. His entry was met by 30 seconds of strained applause. Mrs Rayner, in crushed-strawberry trouser suit, sailed in afterwards. Although only a backbencher, she used the door reserved for cabinet grandees. And no one said boo to her goose.