This article first appeared in The Stornoway Gazette.
I’m just back from Parliament. It is a rite of passage for a journalist who wishes to establish any sense of credibility in Westminster politics to be photographed on the terrace of the Palace itself. There is a patch of approximately two metres squared which is the designated photography spot. It’s cross-hatched with duct tape to separate it from the rest of the terrace. There I was snapped in order to provide Instagram-evidence of my visit.
As people mingle about freely, in search of some air, or some gossip or a pint of their own, you can’t help but be impressed by the site and situation of the Palace of Westminster. On the banks of the River Thames, it is diagonally opposite the London Eye, directly across from St Thomas’s hospital where Boris Johnson was admitted to intensive care when he caught Covid-19. The bongs of Big Ben punctuate the thick, London air as red buses salute the Mother of Parliaments from Westminster bridge, several at once, as you’d expect. As the London chill set in - it’s not been as pleasantly warm here as at home in Lewis - we moved into the Strangers Bar, the scene of much off-the-record briefing.
We walked through Westminster Hall where Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II lay in state for several days prior to her funeral. There was no queue today, and no daytime TV presenters were attempting to skip it, just a large group of school-aged children clustered around the steps of the magnificent hall. It’s a hall that was undergoing refurbishment when The Queen died. It emerged that as part of the refurb contract, the workers had to guarantee they could dismantle all scaffolding and remove all equipment and return the hall to full function within hours of notice that the country had been bereaved. Apparently, this even involved rehearsal drills, known to take place in the middle of the night. In any case, when duty called, they succeeded in their tribute of efficiency.
The Houses of Parliament are grand, they are antiquated, they are spectacular, they are falling down, they are cramped, they are dusty. They have witnessed and moulded history. For a mercifully brief few minutes, I sat with my colleague Patrick Maguire from The Times as Jacob Rees-Mogg delivered some meanderingly-elaborate thoughts on corporation tax as part of a discussion of the finance bill. Everyone who has spent any time in the reality of the green-benched Commons will testify to its compact size. It always appears much larger on television. In any case, Mr Rees-Mogg was speaking to around 20 people in a chamber that regularly attempts to contain more than 600. Most were on their phones. A person on the government benches was taking information from an aide in less-than-hushed tones. One has to wear a jacket to enter the chamber. Thankfully I’d dressed for the occasion.
There is a remarkable sense of prestige and awe when you stand in the Central Lobby. This is where journalists will often report live on TV. It is a large, round vestibule and a crossroads to Parliament. “Down that way is the House of Lords. Down that way is the House of Commons,” guides Patrick, indicating opposite corridors. It is quite a junction in the story of British democracy. It sounds pompous, but it is true. A regal chandelier hangs above, to guide the footsteps of the people’s servants.
We visited The Times office which is, literally, a portacabin, bolted on to the press gallery - the name given to the press wing of Parliament. In there were working the most prestigious names in political journalism, speaking to contacts, conversing with one another and outlining how to scoop their rivals as they do so frequently and so well. Patrick pointed out the best places to get breakfast, a good lunch and possible dinner options - all separate restaurants or cafeterias.
One of the most striking things, which is perhaps obvious when read on the page but is worth stating, is how busy it was around the parliamentary estate: comings and goings of hundreds of people between Portcullis House and Westminster itself. Staff and Members and journalists and aides. Most in smart, business attire, one or two in running gear from their mid-afternoon escape round the streets of London, officers in uniform and, of course, builders in hard hats. There is a real sense of purpose.
It is a place which comes in for deserved criticism: it is theatrical, it is undoubtedly a place, to some extent, removed from reality which offers a power-trip to those who work there. Moreover, perhaps there are people in there who do not work as hard as they ought. But from a cursory wander, treating it as a spectator sport to soak in, there is something quite nobly subtle about the way those who are working in public service are just getting on with things. It is dysfunctional - I’ve no idea what purpose Jacob Rees-Mogg’s stream of corporation tax consciousness was serving, really. But then how else should you represent millions of people when you’re trying to shape financial policy? There are too many pubs on the estate which are open for long stretches of the day. But when you come face to face with democracy, there is something really quite appealing about the whole endeavour.