Just to show that high drama can become a part of daily life here in what my late father always described as “the gas works” we had the absolutely incredible combination of high oratory and low politics that was the visit of President Obama.
He had visited Ireland just after Her Majesty The Queen and it would be churlish to mention that while the royal motorcade swept with speed and efficiency through the Georgian streets of Dublin the US President got stuck on a security barrier!
President Obama had decided to address both Houses of Parliament and we were all in our places two hours before the President arrived. This gave us much opportunity for gossiping and some of my younger colleagues engaged themselves usefully with “twittering equipment” that enabled them to send messages between hand held devices much as I once did in Bishops Park in the 1950s with two empty cocoa tins connected by a taut length of sound transmitting string.
Now I’ve seen Pope Benedict and Her Majesty the Queen address both Houses in Westminster Hall but the Monarch and the Pontiff both took a rather more low key attitude than did the President.
President Obama did finally arrive and half of the west side of the raised section was occupied by diplomats and staff from the American Embassy – including one staggeringly soignée lady wearing the most elegant “Mad Men” style twinset in a fetching orange that matched precisely the protestors in Guantanamo Bay jump suits gathered in Parliament Square. The other half featured the Cabinet, Shadow Cabinet, former Prime Ministers, distinguished senior Parliamentarians and Nick Clegg.
President Obama’s speech has been deconstructed and analysed half to death but nothing will ever take away the memory of that soaring rhetoric and the sound of a politician with the soul to inspire and the skill to communicate that idealism.
I listened first to the delivery and second to the content. You could hardly do both at the same time.
Her Majesty the Queen, Mary McAleese, Barack Obama – we do seem to be living in an age of great leaders and I hope that a few of our common or garden politicians raise their game a little in the light of the examples available to us.
One mystery remains.
There were four gilded golden and red velvet thrones beneath the stained glass window in Westminster Hall.
One for the Lords Speaker, of course, and one for the Speaker of the Commons. Goes without saying. One for the President but who takes the fourth?
President Obama opened his speech by referring to the Lord Chancellor and I thought for a minute that this was the answer. Now I know the Lord Chancellor and have considerable admiration for his personality if not his politics.
I looked with care at the throne to see if a pint glass frothing to the brim was resting next to a familiar pair of Hush Puppies with a panatela smouldering in an ashtray from Ronnie Scott’s but instead of the bluff and comfortable figure of the Lord Chancellor I saw a languid aristocrat carrying what appeared to be an ivory snooker cue over his shoulder.
To my utter amazement this turned out to be the Lord High Chamberlain and although the office holder is usually called the Marquess of Cholmondeley or the Earl of Rocksavage it is actually a title held “in gross” – which means that there can be dozens of Lords High Chamberlains but they all have an allocated percentage of the office.
Lady Barbara Kwiatkowski has a decent share as does the Lady Elizabeth Bassett (no relation that I can discover to the legendary Mike Bassett), Josceline Chichester and the Marchioness of Donegall (sic).
Who are these people? How do they come to own a chunk of the oldest and possibly most noble office of state? More to the point – how do you get your name down? Not for me – of course – but it can only help when you’re on the ‘phone to Sky Plus and you mention that your son, the Lord High Chamberlain, will be round this evening and doesn’t want to miss an episode of Rookie Blue.
For all the mediaeval mystery of Westminster it was a great commoner, the grandson of a Kenyan cook in the British Army, who made his indelible mark on the Houses of Parliament and on all of those who heard his intoxicating message of hope.
Bumping into former Labour Home Secretary Alan Johnson and imminent Coalition Cabinet Minister Jeremy Browne after the speech I was disappointed – but not surprised – that they swiftly moved on from discussion of the special relationship to QPRs prospects in the Premiership. Both these men are bonkers Rangers fans and – bizarrely – share the same birthday with each other and Paddy Kenny!
I wish them – and all QPR supporters – every happiness for next season even though tensions will be high at home where my good and discriminatory daughter is as fervid a Fulham fan as am I.
Although Mrs.P has no interest at all in what she considers an utterly incomprehensible game played with the wrong shape ball I have to confess that my son and heir has haunted the Upper Loft - and the John Snow sweetshop on Uxbridge Road - since he was about eight years old and is forever lost to that strange world off the Bloemfontein Road.
I genuinely look forward to the blue and white army rocking up by the Thames for some decent football next season and I have heard rumours that the Michael Jackson statue might just be sought as a trophy and carried off to Loftus Road.
I have no comment to make on the subject save to point out that the plinth is extremely heavy and some serious lifting gear will be needed if the late Prince of Pop is to be prised away from Craven Cottage.
Fortunately I have a few friends with the necessary plant and can supply contact details as required – but Flannery Plant Hire can be found in yellow pages with no trouble at all. They also do demolition equipment but please don’t mention a word to our great Chairman, Mohammed Al Fayed!
