On days like these it pays to have a sense of humour. Or at the very least a fondness for the theatre of the absurd. It might be all change over in the House of Commons but there are traditions still to be observed in the Lords for the state opening of parliament.
This is the day the upper chamber comes over all Disney. The day when nobody laughs when the cap of maintenance gets its own horse carriage from Buckingham Palace to Westminster. Definitely nothing weird about that. The day when the Bluemantle Pursuivant, the Maltravers Herald Extraordinary and the Clarenceux King of Arms – whoever they are in real life – all get to make guest appearances. And everyone stands for their arrival.
The day when all the lords and ladies – maybe as a nod to the New Labour era, the tiaras were less prominent on Wednesday and at least one woman was auditioning for Strictly in a sparkly dress – gather at least an hour before the scheduled start. Because waiting for no good reason is all part of the spectacle. Well, not all the lords and ladies.
There was no sign of Charlotte Owen. She made it for Rishi’s last hurrah in 2023 but not this time. Maybe her gap year is over and she’s back at university. Evgeny Lebedev was also a notable absentee. Then he always is. Strange that a man who was so desperate to become a lord has taken so little interest since he became one. No Michelle Mone either. Though that could have been a matter for the police.
A phone ring that sounded like a musical box greeted the arrival of the king and queen. Presumably this was one of the few moments that was unscripted. A pageboy fiddled with the king’s sleeve while Charles looked on irritatedly. Satisfied that all was well, Black Rod was sent off to go and fetch the MPs from the Commons. During the walk across the palace to the Lords, Sunak and Keir Starmer chatted animatedly about the football. If only Rish! could feel the same love as Gareth Southgate for coming a distant second.
It may be wishful thinking, but Charles sounded rather more engaged than usual as he read out the speech. Certainly compared with last time when he sounded like a man in despair. OK, he probably didn’t much care for the way it was written. All that woke stuff about “mission driven” government – Keir certainly knows how to suck out the beauty from language – probably stuck in the throat but there was plenty later on for him to cheer. The climate would have got a big thumbs up. The hereditary peers just had to suck up the bit about their own abolition.
Two hours later, the Commons was packed – Labour MPs had spilled over on to the opposition benches right at the back – for the start of the debate on the king’s speech. Though there was a notable absence.
Nigel Farage had turned up for the pageantry earlier in the day but there was no sign of him when the business started in earnest. He had far more important things to do. Like flying off to Milwaukee to try to boost his profile at the Republican convention. The people of Clacton must be thrilled that he is prioritising their interests at every turn. But that’s Nige for you. Give, give, give.
Still, the good news was there was at least the chance he might bump into Liz Truss in Wisconsin. Poor Liz. She really isn’t living her best life at the moment. Unwanted everywhere she goes. Not even given a side room at the convention with no one in the audience to hear what she had to say. That honour fell to Boris Johnson. Milwaukee is a haven for disgraced British politicians.
Having nothing better to do with her life, Liz went on X – she’s even created a brand new, entirely meaningless, logo for herself – to start rubbishing the king’s speech. Part of her still thinks she’s prime minister. She railed against the role of the Office for Budget Responsibility – it’s such a drag when people who know what they are doing try to hold you back – and took issue with a number of policies that her own government had pursued.
She later published a letter she had written to the cabinet secretary, Simon Case, complaining that her mini-budget had been described as “disastrous” in the king’s speech. She didn’t say what adjective she would have preferred. Calamitous? Catastrophic? Worst ever? All of which would pass as fair comment.
It is a tradition that two government backbenchers open the debate with lighthearted and witty speeches. A chance for one old-timer and one MP on the up to shine. It’s also a tradition that these speeches invariably fall a bit flat and leave people thinking: what the fuck was that all about?
Today was no exception. The kindest thing to say about Peter Dowd’s effort was that it was over quite quickly. He’s a lovely man but no one is going to queue up to hire him as an after-dinner speaker. Florence Eshalomi got in a couple of good gags but then flagged. She had peaked too soon. Though it’s also a tradition for every subsequent speaker to say how marvellous the first two had been. The show must go on. No one must be allowed to disrupt the mystery.
Then came Rish!. He’s become a gentler, kinder soul in defeat. Even though he clearly longs to be anywhere but Westminster. He admitted the country had wanted change and wished Labour well. His only quibble was his insistence that Rachel Reeves knew very well how bad the economy was before she took over. He probably had a point.
Keir was … Keir. Solid. Dependable. Gracious when necessary. Boringly repetitive when it isn’t. Sometimes you feel like you are being hit over the head with a mallet. His speech added little to what we already knew. Essentially a rerun of his stump speeches in the election. Lots on service. Lots on duty. Nothing on lifting the two-child benefit cap. Just how radical any of this will turn out to be is anyone’s guess. Much of it sounds great but events have a habit of getting in the way. Maybe we should try to enjoy it while we can.
But you can’t ignore the numbers. The Labour cheers completely drowned out any Conservative mumbles of discontent. On the frontbench, members of the cabinet tried to outdo each other to give the most vigorous nods of agreement. Lisa Nandy won. By a head.
