What the Man in the Press‑Room Was Really Saying
After Labour’s crushing loss in the Runcorn by‑election, the star‑speckled sky outside the parliament buildings seemed a bit less hopeful. Renowned body‑language sleuth Judi James stepped in to crack the code behind Sir Kier Starmer’s post‑defeat interview, and her findings might make you laugh… or cry… or both.
Starmer’s Body Language: the “Pretty Rough” Edition
- Face‑first: He showed up with a “pink, shiny” complexion—think a freshly painted stop sign that’s been left in the sun too long. No twinkle of confidence, just a faint flush of embarrassment.
- Eyes on the Bricks: They even glistened as if he’d just finished a marathon through a hydrant. A real tear‑jerker in the making.
- Stiff Exhalations: Instead of a practiced “I hear you,” he let “ums” and “ers” do the heavy lifting. It’s the classic sign of someone who’s already out Moby‑died the debate—no words left to spare.
- No “Victory Parade” Footnote: Politicians usually script two versions: one for “winner’s circle” and one for “what next?” Starmer’s lost‑speech manual hit the “I’m crushed” version higher than a balloon in a wind tunnel.
Speech Analysis: Talking in Tones of Terror
Starmer began with a robotic “I reflect, of course, on the results,” which felt like a mechanical narrator needing a caffeine fix. When he sneezed “I get it,” it’s as if a nervous spring was trying to launch a slow‑motion apology at the Gordon Brown play‑book. If you can hear the tremor behind “I never pretended I had some budget wand,” you’ll know he’s pulling the last of his “blarg” trickery.
Visual Signals: Silent Skirmishes
- Hair‑pin timeline: He tried to stifle his treasure of “Go further, go faster and deliver”—the words were patted, but pitch‑down: no power, just a rubber band stretched to the limit.
- Feet on the Ground or On the Side? He turned on his heel to walk away, ready to jump the ordinary PR bandwagon. The tweak was as elegant as a slippery eel: a quick nod to the journalist, a blunt “thank you” that almost looked like “I’m done”—and that was all.
- Defensive Dangles: Each closed‑mouth effort felt like a boy on a tightrope, clutching a rope that might snap at any moment.
Wrapping It All Up
Smith’s body language, James confirms, was a textbook potential shortfall: a dizzy, defense‑laden verbal dumplement that had people wondering whether the man had willingly plowed into an underground bunker or simply was a casualty of his own hopeful expectations. In the aftermath of the by‑election, Starmer is now known as the man who tried to project resilience but ended up looking like a mock‑pipeline of exhausted pixels—a reminder that the press they prattle over often lags behind the human truth.
