Better the devil you know - Section15a Part43c

(After a few drinks one night, Oliver Cromwell and Fairfax discuss "legacy issues")

Fairfax: So, Ollie, what now? Where do we go from here?

Cromwell: Where do we go? We don’t go anywhere. I’m running the show now.  And I’m not into this, “Carry forward the revolution” thing.  Bit of order is what we need right now, I reckon.

Fairfax: Yeah, right. Of course, Ollie. I’m right with you there. But I was thinking, you know, we’ve started something. And I was wondering whether in years, in centuries to come, will all this, this change, still be relevant? What will happen two, three hundred or more years from now? For example, do you think that the peasants will ever get their hands on power?

Cromwell: Peasants? Not if I have anything to do with it, they won‘t. I tell you what, those Levellers… Do they have the any idea what would happen if we let a load of sheep-fondling half-wits decide who’s in charge? Bloody anarchy, that's what. These peasants would vote a dog into Parliament if they were given the right narrative and the animal looked cute enough.

Fairfax: Dog, yeah, right… And what about women, Ol? Do you reckon there'll ever be birds in parliament?

Cromwell: Women? Are you having a laugh? Who the hell would want women in Parliament? They already try to run our lives enough as it is. They’d come in and want to ‘smarten the place up’…  encourage us to ‘be in touch with our ‘feminine sides', but just end up giving us more grief. The thought of it!

Fairfax: I don‘t know… ‘Cromwell’s Cuties’… might brighten this place up.

Cromwell: Don’t even go there.

Fairfax: But you reckon that what we’ve achieved will live on? Parliament will go from strength to strength?

Cromwell: Sincerely hope so... As long as Parliamentarians don’t get above themselves, don’t get greedy. As long as they don’t use their power to line their own pockets, to further their own interests. Then I reckon that things'll be fine.

Fairfax: Yeah, right. Last thing we would want, that: Greedy Parliamentarians.

Cromwell: Just think how crap that would look. We put the kybosh on the ‘divine right of kings‘, only to have, couple of hundred years or so down the line, a bunch of chiselling little crooks claiming the ‘divine right of Parliamentarians‘, and filling their boots and taking bribes and saying, “Oooh, you can‘t touch me. I have Parliamentary immunity. I have special privileges, you know."

Fairfax. Yeah, right. That wouldn’t look good, would it?

Cromwell: It wouldn’t look good at all.

Fairfax: Cos, otherwise… you sort of, might as well just invite the monarchy back, have them back running the show, mightn’t you really… you know, when you think about it?

Cromwell: (Contemptuous, dismissive.) Well that isn’t going to happen, is it?

Fairfax: (Nervously) Bloody right, Ollie. Bloody right …Well, at least, I bloody hope not.

Cromwell: Yes… I bloody hope not either.

An MP writes

An MP's lot is not a happy one. We are way down the popularity stakes. Probably somewhere near bankers, journalists, lawyers, estate agents, bloggers, parking wardens, dustbin snoops, bloggers, mortgage brokers, train operators, other commuters on those trains, tourists, stars of reality TV, BBC executives, and last but not least, microbloggers. All people going about their daily business. All people who are loathed for what they do.

In fact everywhere you look nowadays, you see someone that you hate. Someone that you love to hate, want to hate, need to hate. Let's face it, we need something or somebody to rant about. It allows us momentarily to escape our own pathetic lives, with our vain aspirations, our frustrated ambitions. It allows us to blame for all our misery all those other people who got off their backsides and made something of their lives. And yes, you loved them while their stars shined, but you hate them now that they've shown themselves to be human.

But to some extent it is much, much worse for MPs. We never asked for more than we received, for more than what we felt we'd earned in the execution of our duties. At least not at the time, we didn't. If we claimed for expenses, then we only claimed what the claims office approved. Nothing more, nothing less. And let's face it, people of our calibre could have earned a hell of a lot more by working in the private sector, say in the now much maligned City of London.

The institution of parliament is being battered on all sides. Even a lawyer's injunction appears to outweigh the Bill of Rights that says that MPs have the freedom to ask questions in the House and that those questions can be freely disseminated. Newspapers, ordinary taxpayers are enraged at the activities of the house, and are telling us they are in no uncertain terms. We are indeed under seige.

So, where is all this anger leading, one can only ask? Surely not to a place that will profit this great country of ours with its noble customs, its respected institutions, its hard won freedoms.

I ask you then, from the bottom of my heart: Look kindly upon the MPs when they face the draconian response to the expenses scandal that they now face. No-one, surely, can look upon the Legg report without feeling a modicum of sympathy for our beleagured MPs? No-one can behold the inconsistencies, the inaccuracies, the iniquity of his findings without thinking: This Legg fellow is going just a bit too far. Shouldn't this Legg fellow slow down just a bit? After all, MPs are not that bad.

Because, the way I see it... that was the whole point of this report.... Surely?
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