What pomp, what circumstance!

By Shamik Das / @shamikdas

So after weeks of speculation, revelation, back-stabbing and front-stabbing we finally have a new Speaker, the right-wing Right Hon John Simon Bercow, the cigarette card caricature par excellence, loved by Labour, loathed by Tories and deified by cartoonists.

Seems to be doing alright, save for that shocker of an interview with Tom Bradby, in which he hectored his interviewer, wriggled through the same question four times before finally conceding that he wouldn’t, after all, be claiming a second-home allowance; well, why would he? Luxury apartment, massive pension, a peerage if he’s dethroned… he’s made for life!

But what spectacle, what pomp, what circumstance! Britain at its ceremonial, pageantry-tastic best!

First the vote itself, watching as the candidates jotted down each round’s results, working out who finished where, what percentage they got and whether to carry on, Ann Widdecombe shaking her head in disbelief, Margaret Beckett stunned into silence, the two battleaxes realising their careers were over, though Ms Hanging-Basket will, at least, be able to spend more time with her caravan.

Down to the last two it went, the also-rans sparing us the prospect of eleven rounds of voting lasting half-way into the night, and then, at about twenty past eight, the final two, Bercow and Sir George Young, awaited their fate in this special BBC Parliament version of Speaker-star Superstar, Father of the House Alan Williams as Ant (or is it Dec?), the tension at breaking-point, then the result; Bercow ecstatic, Sir George magnanamous, the new Speaker dragged to the chair.

Now if that was great, what was to come was even more so: Black Rod summoning the new Speaker to the House of Lords to receive Royal Approbation. There he was welcomed by the Lord Chancellor and his boys, doffing their tricorne hats not once, not twice, but thrice, whenceforth they partied like it was 1699.

Alas, that’s where the fun ended. Bercow emphased his 21st-centuryness by ditching the robes, as his predecessors Betty Boothroyd and Michael Martin had ditched the wig, knee breeches and tights, wearing only a lounge suit and gown.

Progress? Possibly, though with all the candidates having question marks over their expenses, Parliament would have been as well to wipe the slate clean and cast its net further afield by thinking outside the box and looking outside the House to the worlds of sport, TV and entertainment.

Dickie Bird would be my favourite to keep order. Top bloke, knows the rules inside out, always has a smile on his face, a straight-talking Yorkshireman who wouldn’t put up with any nonsense. Fellow umpire Steve Bucknor would be the man to call upon if MPs were looking for someone more measured: the most chilled-out man on the planet, never knowingly rushed, takes an age to come to a decision: accuracy not haste.

The way things are now, though, the House of Commons may need someone more used to dealing with dissent, especially during Brown v Cameron question times. So how about legendary Italian referee Pierluigi Collina? A high-pitched blast or two on his whistle followed by a glowering from his extra-terrestrialistic eyes should be enough to instill fear into even the most hardened of Commons Ultras.

And if they ever introduce a system of red and yellow cards to the Commons, who else but Graham Poll to take the reins, to the limitless delight of all the troublemakers – after all, who else would give them three yellows before a red?!

Of the plethora of TV preseners on the market, Bruce Forsyth would have to be up there, “Or-or-or-order, order!! You’re so much better than last year’s Parliament!” followed closely by Jeremy Paxman, if only to see him sneer in contempt as the Prime Minister refuses to answer the same question 12 six times in a row at any given PMQs.

The truly inspired choice, however, has got to be Brian Blessed, whose booming voice would echo through the Chamber like no other… “Orrrrder, orrrrder!”