always seemed to be someone who could speak at first hand on the subject. There was also a marked reluctance to commit the country to flagship spending projects. Plans for new infrastructure projects were shelved, subject to review, and some of the basic, simple demands of the electorate were quickly addressed. Bills were passed to ensure that all local councils could only raise charges for services where the intention to do so had been clearly stated by the ruling party as part of its election manifesto. Each new out-of-town development had to show how it would create new jobs, rather than just redistribute existing jobs in their sector. It was the first age of truly popular government.
Then, after a period of intense and open debate, a proposal came forward to address the future of democracy. The proposal was presented to the public by myself. I was one of the old Liberal Democrat MPs who had managed to keep my seat, largely, I think, because it was known that, had I not been disqualified from the process, I would myself have preferred to stand on a CTD ticket. The CTD thought that it would make sense for the radical proposal they wanted to put forward to be presented by someone not directly connected to them and who was relatively respected by the nation as a whole.
The proposal, as you all know, was to abolish the electoral process at every level of local and national government and to replace it with a conditional lottery.
Lottery
‘The knee-jerk reaction to our proposal was two-fold. The immediate press commentary was mainly unsympathetic. ‘Despite periods where government had been less than perfect, the parliamentary system had been tried and tested over the centuries. The country should not be subject to such a daft experiment which could only end in disaster.’ On the other hand the electorate seemed to appreciate the principles of true democracy that were being suggested.
The proposal had not been suggested without considerable thought as to how it might, in practise, be implemented. We explained in great detail how the conditionality would work, excluding criminals and levels of psychological or intellectual impairment for example, and requiring that only those eligible for full-time work could be considered. We had also considered how the changeover to the new system would work, with half of the sitting MPs remaining in post for two years to work alongside the same number of new delegates and for this revolving system to continue ever after on a four year cycle.
We were also careful to offer financial compensation to any sitting MP who did not wish to continue as part of the new system and extended this offer to all the unelected political appointees and hangers-on that were being paid, in one way or another, from the public purse.
This, as it turned out, was the masterstroke. Any warm feelings the public and papers may have still had about their old system quickly evaporated when the pigs started rushing to the compensation trough, abandoning on the way any of the high minded principles they had individually espoused before.
Good riddance to bad rubbish was, in the end, the majority opinion.
To cut an already over-long story short, I’ve now got to a point in the tale which you all know about already, given that you represent the sixth intake of appointed MPs to the modern parliament.
My colleagues and I have to deliver this lecture many more times over the next few days as your fellow new members congregate. I hope it’s been useful to set everything into an historical context and remind you, if you didn’t already know, just how important your role here will be.
Perhaps now would be a good time to break for lunch. This afternoon, at two o’clock, I’d like you to meet George Ling, one of the people who founded the Campaign for True Democracy.’
The meeting broke up. Imogen joined the others in the now bustling cafe-bar and they all squeezed around a couple of tables with their drinks and sandwiches.
‘What do think of it so far?’
The question came from John Parker, but sufficed for them all.
‘Myself, I think it’s a whole lot better than crawling about on roofs in the rain and I’m really looking forward to the whole experience’ he continued. John represented Suffolk South and was, therefore, a relatively close neighbour to Imogen. ‘How about you Imogen-a bit different to the Dragon wouldn’t you say?
‘I thought I knew you from somewhere. John? isn’t it. I would have recognised you earlier if you hadn’t been wearing a suit and had your hair cut. God -it’s a small world. I suppose you’ve already marked out the best pubs round here? Where’s your ‘residence’, as they say’.
‘It’s quite a nice apartment down towards Chiswick, not far from the brewery, to answer both questions in one. Not quite Adnams but Fullers will do for a while, and I can always top up at weekends.
‘Am I the only one who’s going to be travelling in each day?’
The question came from a still very attractive, middle aged lady, the only one of the group that seemed genuinely relaxed and comfortable.
‘ Amelia St. Beuve by the way. Dagenham, for my sins. I had the choice to stay in town but thought it better to try and continue a normal domestic life if I could.’
A quick role call established that Rowley Hoare was a car mechanic from Hereford, Archie Turnbull and Caroline Goubault were both shop-workers from Solihull and Swaledale respectively, Guy Simmonds was a farm-worker from Lincolnshire, Indra Chowdary a call centre worker from Portsmouth, Leonie Chichester a civil servant from Neath and Julie Smyth a GP from Winchester.
‘So, what do we think of it so far?’
‘For me, being selected in the Lottery seems a lot like winning the Lottery, if you know what I mean.’
Guy Simmonds. Up to now he’d not said a word to anyone. He’d sat through the events of the day with the beginnings of a wry smile permanently fixed on his face. A thirty year old farm worker representing the Fenland area of Lincolnshire whose only real first-hand experience of the outside world before now had been his bi-weekly trips to Kings Lynn for the markets and the occasional day-out in Norwich.
‘I’ve been working on the land since I was fifteen. I love it. And when this is all over I daresay I’ll go back to it and love it all over again. You could never accuse my neighbours of being particularly open to the world and I’ve always thought it would be good to get out there and see some things. Do stuff. Now I’m being paid to do just that, and far more than I could ever expect to earn at home. I know it’s only temporary, but I think it’s great.
‘My dad told me a story once, about something that happened near me at the end of the last century. A school inspector arrived. He had to organise the amalgamation of two small village schools. Each was half way down its own drain, off the Dereham road, and only separated by about half a mile, line of sight across the fields. He knew he’d bitten off too much when he made his pitch at one of the village halls and someone stood up to say, ‘We don’t want nuthin to do with it, they’re a funny lot over there.’
‘He was proud of it. The world outside his drain was a very strange place indeed for my old dad. Thank God I’m not too
