Lordy Lordy - Buses

I was woken by Box with my tray of coffee, toast, and assorted toast adornments. 

"Thank you Box," I said, expecting him to go away, the Boxes of this world exist to bring toast and adornments, not to hang around afterwards. 

“May I ask my lord a delicate question?” he said. 

“You may Box, but as your memory is better than mine, you might have to answer it yourself.” 

“It’s about your birth, my lord.” 

“My birth, Box.  I struggle with remembering what’s happened an hour since, I’m hardly going to remember anything about my birth, I was only young at the time.” 

“What I mean, my lord, is when was it?” 

“When was it?” 

“You age, my lord, how old are you?” 

 

“I don’t know that, Box. I’m from the nobility, we don’t have dates of birth, we just ARE.” 

“Well, you might not be much longer my lord, that is my point.” 

“You mean I’m destined to die, Box?” 

“We’re all destined to die, my lord, even yourself. No, I’m referring to the new government’s plans.” 

“That bunch of lefties, Box. What on earth do they have to do with my age?” 

“Did you by any chance read their manifesto, my lord?” 

“Of course I didn’t read it Box, I’m a peer of the realm, I don’t take any interest in politics.” 

“In particular, the passage on Lords reform. It proposed a maximum age for peers.” 

 

“A maximum age! What age?” 

“Eighty.  The proposal is that all peers should be forced to resign as soon as they turn eighty.” 

“Eighty, but that’s half the peerage, Box.  What do they plan to do with all the empty benches? House the homeless?” 

“They plan to introduce hundreds of new peers.  Younger, more active peers. They want the Lords to become a working hub, not a sleeping chamber.” 

“But what on earth would I do Box?  My life evolves around the peers’ benches.” 

“You’d have to find somewhere else to sleep during the day, my lord.” 

More bad news followed, when I arrived in parliament.  No sooner had I arrived than I received a message to meet the Chief Whip urgently. 

“You wished to see me?” I said, as I dutifully appeared in the Chief Whip’s office. 

“Ah, yes, Lord. You’re aware that following the election we’re rather short of MPs.” 

“Indeed, an all-time low according to the Telegraph.” 

“For once the Telegraph is correct.  We’re so short of MPs we don’t even have enough to shadow all of the ministries of state.  We need you to step up.” 

 

“Step up?” 

“You’re to be a junior Shadow Minister for Transport. More precisely, the Shadow Minister for Buses.” 

 

“Buses! But I’ve never used a bus in my life.” 

“Nevertheless, you’re from a rural community, and buses are the lifeblood to those people. One of our most important constituencies.” 

“Won’t the press pick up that the Minister for Buses always takes a private car to and from parliament. It’s the sort of the press always makes a nuisance about.” 

“Excellent point Lord. Which is why we’re stopping your private car.  You’re to take the bus to and from parliament.  But don’t worry, you’ll be able to claim your fares on expenses.” 

That night I arrived home late, after waiting for hours for a bus that never came, then eventually got to squeeze into a seat on a packed bus next to, what can only be described as a member of the public.  

“Good evening my lord,” said Box, as I stumbled, exhausted into my domain. “Have you been working late?” 

“In a way Box.  I’ve been guinea pigging the country’s bus services.  Two weeks this government has been in power, and the services are already completely on their uppers.” 

“Some good news for you, my lord,” said Box cheerily. “The new PM has announced the list of his new peers.  Most of them are ex MPs, nearly all in their 80s.” 

“So he’s broken a manifesto pledge, has he Box. I remember when that used to be a resignation issue, totally scandalous and shameless.” 

 

“Yes my lord, you are very, very old indeed.” 

“Honestly Box, there’s no need to be rude.” 

“I’m not being rude, my lord, I’m being factual. I’ve found your birth certificate.  You’re 93 years old.” 

“93! Good lord, how on earth am I going to afford the candles on my next birthday cake.  Oh well, at least I should qualify for a free bus pass, that’d save me the paperwork of claiming for fares and holding on to hundreds of those little pieces of paper.” 

“In fact, my lord, 93 is rather good news on that front.” 

“How so Box?  Are 93 year olds guaranteed a seat on the 93 bus?” 

“You’re forgetting, my lord. The new party leader has recently criticised the leftie US President as being too old for office at the age of 81.  Well, he can hardly appoint a new minister in their 90s. You’ll be forced back on the back benches.” 

“Ah, the back benches, Box, where I can sleep in peace, without a care in the world. So it’s good news all round, no more buses and my peerage is safe.” 

“No quite might lord.” 

“I thought you said the government had scrapped their plans to cull elderly peers.” 

 

“They have, my lord. But instead, they’re proposing abolishing the hereditary peerage.”