Frankly, who knew the truth about Zac’s real first name?
In roughly the same time it takes to parboil a turnip, two new peers of the realm were created yesterday afternoon. nicky Morgan and Zac Goldsmith were the latest MPs to feel the soft warmth of synthetic ermine around their necks as they underwent their twirly introduction to the Upper Chamber.
La Morgan, or Baroness Morgan of Cotes as she will henceforth be known, quit Parliament before the General Election but has been swiftly ennobled to allow her to continue, unelected, as Culture minister.
As for Zac, his elevation to the Lords means he gets to continue as the Government’s Environment minister despite being rejected by his Richmond Park constituents a month ago. If Boris Johnson wants to improve this place’s battered reputation he’s going a mighty peculiar way about it.
Morgan entered the Chamber slowly, conscious that her stately robes were dangling dangerously beyond her control.
One errant swoosh and someone on the front bench was in for a nasty thwack around the chops. Behind her followed her two backers, Baroness Verma and Lord Young.
At the front marched the officious Black Rod, face like a clapped thunder cloud, turning at right angles like Pacman on amphetamines. Also present was the Garter King of Arms, whose well-padded frame was bedecked in gold braid.
Magnificent. If he turned up on the Hollywood red carpet in such garb this award season, fashionistas would surely be having kittens.
A wigged clerk read out the proclamation, annunciating each word beautifully in pleasing staccato. ‘Elizabeth the Second, by the grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and northern Ireland and our other realms and our territories…’
Morgan responded bashfully, spitting out her oath like a nervy bride having last minute wobbles.
ZAC was next, gliding towards the despatch box as though he were on castors. He’s aged a bit since he first came into politics. That once sandy hair is now bright silver. Years of roll-up cigarettes have given his voice a gravelly tone.
Thanks to the clerk, we learned Goldsmith’s first name is actually Frank, as in Frank Zacharias Robin Goldsmith. Bet his classmates had a giggle over that when his name went up on the school boards.
I’m sure his brother Ben, who along with Zac’s redoubtable mother Lady Annabel and wife Alice was perched in the public gallery, shot a puckish grin as it was announced.
Lord Goldsmith of Richmond Park’s concluding act of the day was to approach the woolsack and shake the paw of the speaker Lord Fowler as throaty ‘yer yers’ echoed around the Chamber. And that, as they say, was that.
Before the afternoon session could begin, a number of existing peers still had to be re-sworn in, as is the form after an election.
Ex-Chancellor Alistair Darling was there, still nervously looking over his shoulder as he waited his turn. Years suffering at the hands of Gordon Brown’s well-poisoner Damian McBride can do that to man.
LIKE army officers who still have a quick peek under the chassis for an IRA bomb, it’s a habit that will probably never leave him. Standing behind Darling in the queue was retired Supreme Court President Baroness Hale, her chest bejewelled with a jaunty frog brooch.
(Incidentally, did you spot publicity-prone Lady H delighting us with another interview in the weekend papers? Can’t be long before the ‘ I’m a Celebrity...’ jungle beckons).
Last to be sworn in was brassiere tycoon Baroness Mone. What a treat she looked. Tautlycut jacket. Thigh-high boots. And the hair! Yellower than Bird’s custard.
When the afternoon’s business finally got under way, the Chamber took on its customary soporific air. Vacant stares, weary groans. From beneath me, there was a gurgle of someone enjoying a postprandial snooze.
Jeremy Corbyn’s favoured successor, Rebecca Long-Bailey, has come out saying she would abolish this place should she ever find herself clacking her way across the Downing Street threshold.
It’s almost enough to make you want to fork out £25 and join the Labour Party.