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Don’t abolish the House of Lords yet – I quite fancy the idea of a seat

Labour’s plans mean I may never hit the upper chamber, though my manifesto is ready

In 1990, when I was five, I showed early political promise by telling my friends that Margaret Thatcher was standing down as prime minister because she was pregnant. Teachers at my primary school often left because they were having a baby and so, my fiveyear-old brain reasoned, the same must be true for our Prime Minister. She looked surprisingly slim on the news, but perhaps she was hiding her bump with her handbag.

I only mention this because, 32 years on, I am alarmed about the dwindling prospect of my political career. Should Labour win the next election, they’re reportedly planning to abolish the House of Lords and replace it with something more democratic. Earlier this year, Keir Starmer charged Gordon Brown with overseeing a constitutional review and, according to a leaked report, Flash Gordon has recommended that the upper chamber be replaced by a house of “nations and regions” (whatever that is). Seems a bit rum to me. We have a new Prime Minister who was appointed by 0.12 per cent of the population, but it’s the poor old Lords (a handful of them are so dutiful that they even attend and vote once or twice a year), who are an affront to democracy. Politics, eh?

The reason this is personally threatening is that a seat in the Lords is my last shot at the game. When my father dies, there will be a hereditary title up for grabs and although I’ve previously declared that I’m not interested, if there was a chance that I could slip on some ermine and enjoy a subsidised lunch in Westminster, I might be persuaded.

Unfortunately I’m a woman and the title is currently due to go to my brother, but I’m older than him and I’ve been watching Game of Thrones recently. Women can be equally dastardly when it comes to scrabbling for power and I would almost certainly beat him in a sword fight. Should Gordon’s plans go through, however, I’d be out of luck. No more hereditary seats in the Lords; no politics for me.

It’s sad because my political antennae developed further after I went round merrily telling everyone that Mrs Thatcher was having a baby. I studied politics A-Level and I took a module on political philosophy at the London School of Economics, writing impassioned essays about Rousseau and Locke while harbouring romantic notions of becoming an MP. It seemed noble and honourable. Plus, the politicians on the news all seemed to be driven into work and back in chauffeured cars.

Since then, I have realised that being an MP is very hard work for very little thanks and I suspect that if anyone with the surname Money-Coutts ran for a seat, they’d be given a bigger kicking than someone with the surname ReesMogg. I’d probably also have to remove a few questionable photos from Facebook. So, no seat in the Commons. But the Lords has always looked more civilised. When I visited the place to interview a baroness a few years back, I noted they had coat pegs beside the entrance with their names in alphabetical order and there was custard in the dining room. It was like school, except everyone had grey hair.

As it happens, this month is a big one for the Lords. There’s space for 92 hereditary peers but four retired this summer: Viscount Ullswater, Lord Colwyn, the Earl of Listowel and Lord Cheese-Biscuit. (OK, I made the last one up. The last retiree is Lord Astor of Hever. Lord Cheese-Biscuit’s still going, I think.) In addition, the Earl of Home sadly died. This means that there are five hereditary spots available and byelections are being held as I write, with the results to be announced in the next couple of weeks.

A few years ago, my friend Ned alerted me to the fact that whenever a hereditary seat comes up, the House of Lords publishes hopeful peers’ mini manifestos. They are publicly available online and I recommend looking them up because their claims often have a touch of Wodehouse about them. I don’t want to belabour the school comparison, but imagine these are elections for head prefect and the statements might make more sense.

Earlier this year, the fifth Baron Ashbourne noted in his manifesto that he is an “enthusiastic Cresta rider”. Quite why hurling oneself down an icy slope on a tea tray in St Moritz would make you a sensible candidate to sit in the Lords and debate political matters is anyone’s guess. Bravery? Lower down on that same list, Lord Wrottesley wrote that he too had an interest in winter sports as “an Olympian” who once chaired the British Bobsleigh and Skeleton association, but was also keen on the environment

With alphabetical coat pegs and custard, it was like school, except everyone had grey hair

and a “closet tree hugger”. The Earl of Carnarvon once declared that his interests were “thoroughbred breeding, conservation and ancient landscapes”. The Earl of Limerick has previously campaigned for a seat with an actual limerick that began: “The Upper House knows none so queer/ A creature as the Seatless Peer.” (Sadly, he wasn’t elected.)

At least these manifestos show that the Lords have a sense of humour, which I imagine is also pretty vital when it comes to working in politics these days. But Gordon’s probably right; we should have a more judicious way of choosing these officials. It’s a shame though, because I’ve had a little ponder about my manifesto should I ever be eligible to run for a seat in the Lords. My interests are whether it’s time for lunch yet, and I’d like to ban leaf blowers and lodge a Private Member’s bill demanding life imprisonment for anyone caught hanging their dog’s poo bag from a tree in the park.

And yet it’s unlikely that I shall ever be eligible now. Perhaps that’s for the best. But I can’t see how I would make a worse fist of it than some of our current leaders seem to be doing.

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2022-10-02T07:00:00.0000000Z

2022-10-02T07:00:00.0000000Z

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