Cross Party Groups

"Ah, Lord Lord, I was just talking about you," said Baroness Bluster as I entered our shared office.

"You were?" I said nervously, there's only one thing worse than being talked about and that's being written about.

"I was on the phone to Brenda Halliwell MP, we're setting up a new cross-party group on flatulence. We've got 19 members, you'll take us to the requisite twenty. I was telling Brenda that you suffer worse than anyone I've ever met. I had to get that special ventilator installed when you moved in."

"I don't have a great deal of time for All Party Groups..." I stated to say, but she already had a pen and paper in my hand, guiding my signature across the form.

"Oh I know that, I just need your name, if I wanted someone to DO anything I wouldn't have asked you."

I escaped to the sanctity of the Lords bar, where I joined Lord Toberone in the Lords bar, nurturing a glass of brandy.

"Lordy, Lordy," he said in greeting.

"What have you been doing?" I asked. "I didn't see you in the chamber."

"Oh I clocked in for 30 seconds, might as well earn my keep while I'm here, but I'm here for the all party group on Africa and the Middle East."

"That's a bit vague isn't it. I thought there were already cross party groups for most of the African and Middle Eastern countries. Aren't you Chair of the APG for Ghana?"

"Among others."

"I can't be bothered with them, they don't have any power."

"Ah, but Lordy, the lobbyists love them, they're an excuse to get a group of politicians together. This new group, the oil companies are really keen on supporting it, they see a real opportunity to help starving Africans and, at the same time, remove unnecessary climate chance restrctions. You should join the group, they have some very lucrative foreign visits lined up."

"Well I always say I should travel more. Put me down."

"You joined an all party group, my lord," Box said a few days later.

"Yes, Lady Bluster made me sign up, she wants to stamp out flatulence."

"How will your visiting the Congo help stamp out flatulence, my lord?"

"Oh, this must be Lord Toberone's Group, he was promising foreign travel. I must admit I was rather hoping for Dubai or somewhere a bit more civilised."

"What's this about a trip to the Congo?" I asked Lord Toberone, later that day in the Lord's bar.

"It's a very worthwhile cause, we're visiting a school built with Western aid."

"But I thought this was about oil. There's no oil in the Congo."

"That's the clever thing. All of the Cross Party Groups for oil rich countries get the bean counters checking every penny, but they're won't look twice at a worthwhile visit to a war-torn country.  We'll meet the oil companies back at the airport, where we can be signed up as non-executive directors of offshore companies they've set up, pick up a handsome second income and all we do in return is to raise their genuine, democratic concerns in the House."

As a full-time Peer, the summer months, where parliament is suspended for four months at a time, can be a challenge to a workaholic such as myself. Usually I take a 16 week holiday followed by two weeks at home recovering from the holiday.

The trip began smoothly enough, we flew first class and had a rolls Royce pick us up from the airport and drive us to the desolate war-torn village where aid agencies had built the school. Box had written a speech about the importance of giving to charity, as the chief whip had warned me that the government was about to slash the aid budget, so it was best to keep strum about any good that it might be doing.

I was the star guest, the first western politician to have visited the school for over a week. I was given a rousing reception, and my speech was vociferously applauded, the only pity being that none of the children understood a word of it, as they all spoke some ghastly primitive tongue (French I believe) rather than the mother of all languages.

After my speech one of the children stayed behind to speak to me. Not that she spoke English, you understand, but from the little French I have picked up in posh restaurants and visits to the third world I gathered that she was keen to become involved in politics herself so that she could make a difference, empower her community and change her little corner of the world for the better.

"How can I make a difference?" she asked and I gave her the best advice I could - "Marry a rich man," I said. After all, nobody's going to listen to some impoverished African urchin from the middle of nowhere.

Staying behind to help this poor girl made me late for the scheduled departure, however I was most surprised to discover that Lord Toberone, who had attended my speech as spectator, had driven off without me, taking the car, the driver and the translator.

I had left Box at the airport, where he was meeting the oil company representatives should myself and Toberone be delayed, meaning that I was completely alone. After running around shouting I managed to find someone who spoke English, from who I learnt that the reason Toberone had fled was that there were reports of rebel troops in the area, making it imperative to return to civilisation during daylight. I was understandably keen to join him as soon as possible, however, there wasn't a car to be had, Toberone had driven off in the only available transport and I was a sitting duck, the only white man in a thousand mile radius.

"Aren't you scared of what will happen if the rebel troops come here?" I asked the English-speaker. 

He shrugged, something the locals had clearly picked up from the one-time French rulers, along with the apparent policy of making absolutely no effort to prevent invasion. Doubtless the white flags were being dry cleaned ready even as I spoke.

"There is no need to worry. They will come for the white man, they won't worry anyone else."

"What will they do to me?"

"Oh, they will take you hostage, ransom you then kill you."

"But what if the ransom is paid?"

He shrugged again. "Then they will be rich. They still kill you."

I went round the town miming driving a car to every individual in it. I have never in my entire life made so many people laugh so much, there was no car to be had, no escape, no rescue.
I eventually found a place to lie down for the night (literally lie down, I made no attempt to sleep, in addition to the threat of rebel troops there were stray dogs everywhere who would clearly have enjoyed a nibble of Lordly flesh given half a chance. In my alert state I heard a distant buzzing, probably a swarm of deadly mosquitos, hornets or whatever vile creatures inhabited this land. But no, as it cam nearer I recognised the sound. A helicopter. That could only mean one thing, rescue.

I rushed outside and waved frantically, not that I could be seen in the darkness of course.  The helicopter landed just outside the village and I rushed to it, to be greeted by Box rushing in the opposite direction.

"You're safe, my lord, thank goodness."

"No thanks to Toberone," I said. "He buggered off without me."

"Au contraire," Box said, clearly adapting the native tongue. "It was the driver who buggered off. Toberone only just managed to jump in the back seat, and there was no persuading him to stop. As soon as he got back to the airport he raised merry hell, pestering embassy officials, civil servants, princes, military, he's a one-man hornets nest when he's angry, I never knew he had it in him."

"Well good for Toberone," I said. "I'm sorry I doubted him."

"Unfortunately all of the fuss he kicked up has scarred off the oil companies, your visit is going to be big news in all the papers now which means that any secretive deal when nobody's looking isn't going to be possible. You came all this way for nothing."

"Not nothing Box," I thought of the young girl I'd inspired to action with my helpful advice. "You're forgetting my speech. I like to think I've sown the seeds of hope for the next generation, given them hope and advice they need to make things better in the future."

Box for once had no reply. You see, change is possible.