Bercow bowed and scraped before Felipe. Que charlatan!
DIPLOMATIC incident averted. Scene: Royal Gallery of the House of Lords, Westminster. Enter the youthful King of Spain, Felipe VI, his beautiful Queen and their attendants.
And what should the Spanish visitors see in the third row of the room, which contained the assembled Houses of Parliament? Why, the yeoman shape of Andrew Rosindell (Con, Romford), sitting there with chin jutted forth, a proud badge of Gibraltar prominent in his lapel.
Mr Rosindell had made it public beforehand that if His Spanish Majesty said anything untoward about Gib’, he (Rosindell) would lead a walkout. Most of us presumed that he would therefore be seated somewhere near the back of the gallery.
But the Romford Rottweiler had arrived early and bagged one of the best pews in the room!
As it turned out, there was no cause for alarm. The King’s one mention of the Rock – which the Spanish insist, quite wrongly, to be theirs – proved uncontroversial. He was almost even emollient.
It came just after he had said, in admirable English, that ‘during our rich and fruitful history there have been estrangements, rivalries and disputes’ between Spain and England.
‘The work and determination of our governments, authorities and citizens have relegated such events to the past,’ he continued. ‘I am certain that this resolve to overcome our differences will be even greater in the case of Gibraltar and I am confident that through the necessary dialogue and effort, our two governments will be able to work towards arrangements that are acceptable to all involved.’
Was that the sound of a Spaniard just agreeing not to make an undue fuss about a lump of rock at the southern tip of his kingdom? Mr Rosindell stayed in his seat.
Parliamentary visits by heads of state always offer vignettes, not least the unmatchable comedy of Speaker Bercow at his most oleaginous. Think of the late Terry Scott playing a small-town mayor greeting a visiting duke for the annual hospital fete.
Bow, scrape, florid sentences, sub-Ciceronian hand gestures, gaseous and goaty smiles, looks of bulgy-eyed rapture, little puckerings of ‘Oh I say you are too kind, your Grace’ and so forth. A sweeping of self-important gowns. Much urgent nodding of the head. And far too long a speech.
As Bercow began the official welcome, the King’s eyes initially sparkled at the panoply before him: ministers, peers, MPs and black-tailcoated attendants.
Black Rod wore a sword of the most gorgeous silver filigree. In the front row sat not only Theresa May and Jeremy Corbyn (and Jacob Rees-Mogg) but also Senora Corbyn, elegant in purple rinse. The Royal Gallery’s gilt roof glistened. In the mounting heat, a few ladies fanned themselves, as though at a corrida.
Bercow was bumbling away in his unctuous way, calling the King ‘a shining example’, talking about what a ‘civilised’ and ‘widely rounded’ hombre he was.
The King’s eyes had by now lost their lustre. Boredom had set in. ‘Que hablador,’ he was perhaps thinking. ‘Que charlatan. Que saco de viento!’
EVEnTuALLy Bercow finished. A thousand swallowed cheers. The King was given the floor and proceeded to speak, also at length, in a light, pleasant voice. With his slim looks and beard, he could be one of those romantic tenors they use at Glyndebourne.
He delivered his speech tidily. It was possibly more political than one of our Queen’s speeches but generally it was a model of tact and referred to Brexit as ‘the new circumstances’.
Behind him, Speaker Bercow kept pursing his lips, reacting, beaming, quite unable to behave like a grown-up. near me, Lord Lea (Lab) busied himself retying his shoelaces.
Lord Fowler, Speaker of the House of Lords, showed how to do this sort of thing with a brief, witty and civilised speech which ended with the cry ‘Viva El Rey!’ To which (as instructed beforehand) the room boomed forth the rejoinder: ‘Viva!’
A room full of British parliamentarians urging long life to the Spanish King: Shakespeare would have been amazed.