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Gilbert Murray MP's Westminster Blog
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It was back to Parliament this week. It reminds me very much of starting a new school year at Eton: grand, crumbling buildings, stern-looking officials dressed in anachronistic attire, odd little rituals and everything run according to the clock. The main difference I can see is the bullying: there was a lot less of that at Eton. Not that bullying was something I suffered from; my father told me from experience that at Eton, one was either a bullyer or a bullyee, and I knew right from the word go which side I was going to play for.
The postman brought me two very unpleasant surprises this week. He delivered two very official-looking letters. The first informed me that I was going to be prosecuted under section 85 of the Water Resources Act 1991, for 'polluting controlled waters'. It's all to do with my old Land Rover that had been sitting happily in Gypping Marsh until a couple of weeks ago, minding its own business and harming nobody until Lincolnshire County Council hauled it out and towed it away. Granted, it was leaking a little bit of engine oil and coolant, but not so much that you'd really notice.
The second letter informed me that I was going to be prosecuted for being the registered keeper of an untaxed and uninsured vehicle - again, all to do with the damn Land Rover.
This just isn't on. Here am I, a respected public figure who is devoting his life to his constituents, being persecuted by the nanny state for some piffling little offences that haven't done anybody any real harm.
Well, I am not standing for it. I got straight on the phone to my lawyer, Welsby, of the legal firm Elton and Welsby. He's a fine man, and very well-respected in Lincolnshire legal circles.
Welsby's got the sharpest legal brain I've ever come across. He proved invaluable last year after an unfortunate incident in which I mistook a door-to-door charity collector for a submissive 'lady companion' I had ordered myself as a birthday treat. It was only when the 'lady companion' turned up half an hour late that I realised I had bound, gagged and flogged the wrong person. Not only did Welsby manage to get all charges dropped, he also persuaded the judge to award me costs against the charity collector and the charity itself... an environmental charity, as it happens.
Welsby has been a huge help to me down the years. He tells me that he had been thinking of retiring this year, but when he heard that I was standing for Parliament again, he decided to put his retirement plans on hold for a while. Apparently he thought he may be needed. And how right he was.
Anyway, things are now in Welsby's more than capable hands. He moves through the legal jungle like a greased cheetah on roller skates, and I am confident he will be able to pull me out of this mess. Much like Lincolnshire County Council did with my old Land Rover.
Anyway, on to less contentious matters. Support seems to be growing for the Fockett & Burnett-Hall proposal for a new opencast mine and coal-fired power station in Cambridgeshire. I feel this is a much better plan than covering the Lincolnshire fens with solar panels, as Ed Miliband is suggesting. I am on the cusp of getting neighbouring fenland MP Richard Trice on board - he's always wittering on about how much he hates 'Net Zero' - and Fockett & Burnett-Hall's consultants are close to finalising their proposals, ready for a so-called 'public consultation'. And trust me, Fockett & Burnett-Hall know exactly how to manage 'public consultations' - only announce the one-hour long consultation the day before it's due to be held, hold it in a remote location at an inconvenient time, make sure the caretaker 'mislays' the keys to the building on the day - that kind of thing. They're experts at making sure there's very little public opposition to their plans.
All we really need is Miliband's go-ahead. I've been trying to buttonhole him all week to talk to him about the proposal, but the man's been doing everything he can to avoid me. Someone must have tipped him off. At one point, he even went as far as disguising himself as a standard lamp to avoid having to talk to me. I'm somewhat ashamed to say that as the bars had been open for a few hours by that point, his disguise worked and I walked straight past him without noticing. I will renew my efforts to pin the man down, whatever he chooses to disguise himself as.
I have been approached by a number of constituents who are concerned that the proposed new power station will spew noxious fumes and thick black smoke over the Lincolnshire fens. I am pleased to be able to set everyone's mind at rest on this point: I have been assured that the prevailing winds will blow the pollution over Norfolk and Suffolk, not Lincolnshire. And besides, nobody's ever been harmed by a little bit of smoke. And don't they say that a little dirt is good for growing children? It's supposed to help their developing immune system. Yet another reason to go back to good, honest coal, rather than plaster the fens with unreliable, ugly solar panels.
On to church matters. Reverend Murray has informed me that visitor numbers to Saint Bodkin's church have nearly doubled since the installation of the new relic of the Great Prophet Noel last week: no fewer than five people have signed the church's visitor book since then. He's confident that in the near future, Saint Bodkin's will become a regular destination for pilgrims from all four corners of the world. Which will be a great thing, provided they don't arrive here in small boats.
Reverend Murray told me that sadly, he did not manage to procure the relic of the Great Prophet Noel's stripy jumper; he was outbid at the last minute. However, he says he now has his eye on another relic: a fragment of the one true banker's telephone. I will keep you updated on his bidding progress.
On the subject of Saint Bodkin's, you may be aware that some wag climbed the church tower a couple of weeks ago and hung what they obviously considered to be a 'humorous' sign around the neck of the new Liz Truss gargoyle that was recently installed. The verger has asked me to point out that whoever carried this out was putting themself at grave danger of injury, and as the verger had to scale the tower himself to remove the offending sign, the prankster also put the verger at risk. So, a plea to you all: please let us not have a repeat of such inconsiderate and disrespectful behaviour.
One final note: I am pleased to report that Deform UK has managed to negotiate an excellent deal for its members with Holiday Inn Express. The hotel chain is offering our members 10% off all September bookings, in return for us agreeing to stop inciting our supporters to burn down their hotels. Great timing for party conference attendees!
Gilbert Murray MP
I'd like to give you an update on the dreadful cabbage spill that happened last week, not far from Gypping in the Marsh. As you may be aware, a trailer full of cabbages overturned, spilling precious cabbages all over the highway. Thankfully, no cabbages were seriously damaged in the incident.
I was in the Cock and Bull when I heard about the incident on the local news - I'd been there for a few hours, chatting through some vital constituency issues with the landlord. As soon as I heard about the incident, I finished my latest pint and brandy chaser, hopped into the car and drove straight to the scene - well, I drove reasonably straight to the scene - but by the time I got there, I found that everything had been cleared up.
We care a lot about our cabbages here in Gypping in the Marsh. I have written to the Secretary for Transport, Louise Haigh, to complain about the dreadful, pot-holed state of the roads around here, and to demand action. It's only a matter of time before something like this happens again, and next time our vegetable produce may not be so lucky.
On a related note, I must say that I was most put out by the behaviour of several cyclists that day. There was I, driving hell for leather in an attempt to get to the incident as fast as I could, only to find my progress impeded again and again by ruddy bicyclists, pedalling along slowly and acting as if they owned the road. I had to make frequent use of the horn to get them out of the way. One particularly disobliging cyclist actually clipped my wing mirror with his handlebar as I raced past him on a single-track road, and ended up on his back with his bicycle on top of him for his trouble.
Obviously, I stopped the car immediately and got out to check that everything was OK. Thankfully, the wing mirror was completely undamaged, so after taking a quick photo of the prone cyclist and his mangled contraption, I was able to resume my journey without any further ado. I shall also be writing to Louise Haigh to demand action on the obstructive cyclists that are plaguing our country lanes and making life unbearable for us poor, beleagured car drivers.
Now, to parliamentary matters. Neighbouring Deform UK MP Richard Trice was asked last week by a constituent why the Deform UK contingent hadn't said anything during Prime Minister's Questions. Trice told her that he'd been 'bobbing throughout but was not called by the speaker'.
It's obvious to me that Trice simply lacks the personality and gravitas to command the Speaker's attention. I've told him that bobbing up and down like a schoolgirl trying to ask the teacher if she can go to the toilet just won't cut it in the House of Commons. He needs to watch me the next time I'm in the Commons, and learn. I'll show him how it's done.
Still on parliamentary goings-on, I was interested to see that Tory MPs roundly rejected Priti Patel in the first leadership ballot. With that in mind, I would like to proffer the hand of friendship from Deform UK to Ms Patel: if she chooses to defect, I can assure her of a warm welcome here in Deform UK. Fromage is keen to give the party a more 'human' face. Despite that, she'd still be welcome to join us.
On the subject of Fromage, I have to say that I've been disappointed by the man. It's been weeks since he asked me if I would be Deform UK's foreign affairs spokesman, and since then he's asked me to do precisely nothing. I would have thought he'd be wanting me to take some responsibility away from him, freeing him up to do whatever it is he finds to do with his time, but no; he's carried on as if I didn't exist and hasn't asked me to do anything.
For example, I'd be more than happy to take over responsibility for all these trips to the US he keeps on making. I'm sure I'd make a good impression on Trump - I certainly know how to flatter, and by the sound of it that's what you need to do to keep on the right side of him. But when I've suggested that to Fromage, he's poo-poohed my idea immediately.
I think I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands. I've started researching far-right parties in other countries, with a view to visiting them (billing Deform UK for the travel and accommodation costs, obviously) and seeing if I can build some international bridges. Places of great governmental importance. Places like Barbados. Bermuda. The Turks and Caicos Islands. Tahiti. It will be my pleasure to put Gypping in the Marsh on the world stage.
Back to local issues. I am pleased to report that visitor numbers continue to rise at Saint Bodkin's church, no doubt due to the increasing number of people who wish to venerate the relic of the Great Prophet Noel's beard that is now installed in the south aisle. Reverend Murray (no relation) reports that no fewer than eight people signed the visitor book last week. Not a bad number for a church in a remote location like Gypping in the Marsh.
I am less pleased to report that some of the comments that people have left in the visitor book are not quite as respectful towards the Great Prophet Noel and the relic as they could be. Two people commented that there was a bit of a 'doggy odour' surrounding the reliquary, and one person simply wrote 'Woof' in the comments column. Such behaviour is most unbecoming. Could I ask anyone who comes to venerate the relic in the future to show a little more respect, please?
On a more positive note, it was good to see the number of people who attended Hemlock Hall last Saturday, when the 18th Earl of Gypping opened up the cellars as part of 'Heritage Open Days 2024'. The cellars of the hall are normally out of bounds to the general public, but Lord Murray (no relation) laid on hourly cellar tours throughout the day, which were most informative - even if it was slightly difficult to make out what the Earl was saying sometimes from behind his protective mask.
People didn't seem to have been put off visiting by Lord Murray's recommendation that they wear asbestos-proof protective clothing and masks - apparently the old central heating pipes are lagged with the stuff - and it was heartening to see the number of people who joined me in disregarding the warnings about protective gear. Health and safety has gone too far these days if you ask me.
I did rib the Earl about the amount of protective gear he was wearing. Or at least I tried to; we kicked up so much dust in the cellars that it was hard to get one's words out without succumbing to a coughing fit.
The Earl will be opening up the Hemlock Hall cellars again this coming Saturday, so do come along if you are interested. You will be guaranteed an unforgettable - if somewhat dusty - experience.
Gilbert Murray MP
It has not been the best of weeks. I had a visit from a couple of Lincolnshire's boys in blue on Monday. They were following up an incident that was reported by that damn cyclist who rode into me last week when I was rushing to get to the scene of the cabbage spillage. Apparently he had a video camera on his bicycle which filmed the whole shebang, and he reported me to the police for dangerous driving. The police told me that having reviewed the bike cam footage, they thought there were grounds for charging me with dangerous driving, failing to stop after and report an accident, and causing actual bodily harm!
This is ridiculous. I explained to the officers how the cyclist had been getting in my way and slowing me down and that I would be well within my rights to sue him for damages to my Range Rover (close inspection has revealed an inch-long hairline scratch to the wing mirror casing that will be a devil of a job to buff out), but they were having none of it.
I got straight on the phone to Welsby, who is already hard at it dealing with my legal woes regarding my old Land Rover that was pulled out of Gypping Marsh the other week. Thankfully, his current workload didn't prevent him from taking on this new task, and I have placed matters firmly in his more than capable hands.
Welsby really is an excellent chap as far as the law is concerned, and he has experience of helping me out with road traffic shenanigans. He proved invaluable a few years ago after an unfortunate incident involving two blind pensioners who stepped onto a zebra crossing without warning when I was late for a meeting with my accountant after an extended lunch. Not only did Welsby manage to get all charges dropped, he also persuaded the judge to award me costs against the bereaved family. I have no doubt that he will come through for me again on this new inconvenient matter.
I suppose one should always look for the silver lining in the cloud: Welsby commented that I should count myself lucky that the police can't breathalyse me days after the event. Thank Noel for small mercies.
Now, onto other matters. I've realised that I'm going to have to find myself a base in London: now that I'm an MP again I'm having to be there rather more than I would like. Up until now I've been staying in hotels, but one can't carry that one forever; I really need a place of my own. I've tasked Beaker with looking out for a decent flat somewhere suitable. If anyone can recommend somewhere, please do let me know.
Gypping in the Marsh woke up to find a large erection on the village green last week - quite literally. A so-called 'conceptual artist' (ie some bearded, unwashed layabout who's gone all the way through art school and still can't ruddy paint) erected an enormous phallus made of Lincolnshire Poacher cheese on the village green, apparently as a protest against the government removing the winter fuel allowance from pensioners.
No, I don't get it either. But I have to say, the locals are rather taking to their new art installation. As are the rats - it's now looking distinctly nibbled about the base.
Staying on the subject of enormous pricks, I'm looking forward immensely to the Deform UK party conference this coming weekend. As I said in a previous blogpost, I've been preparing a new dummy for the ventriloquist act I'll be doing on the Friday night, and I've nearly finished working on the speech I will be giving to the conference on Saturday afternoon.
Apparently there have been some changes to the conference line-up. Originally, Fromage had asked two particularly active party supporters - 'Barry from Sunderland' and 'Holiday Inn John from Tamworth' - to speak, but both of these individuals were detained at His Majesty's pleasure last month following the 'Fromage Riots' - one for setting fire to a bin and throwing it at the police; the other for attempting to burn down the Holiday Inn Express in Tamworth - so they won't be able to attend the conference.
Apparently there's also a question mark over whether Time Team's Tommy Robinson will be able to attend. He's probably overseeing an important archaeological dig somewhere. Well, either that or busy whipping up right wing hatred on social media prior to a court appearance. I honestly think we'll be lucky if he turns up on the day.
I don't think Fromage has managed to book anyone else in these people's place, so everyone else will probably have to lengthen their slots to compensate for the lack of speakers. That shouldn't be a problem for an elder statesman like yours truly; I am at my best when commanding the attention of an audience. I've no doubt that Fromage, Trice and the rest of them will learn a thing or two from me. Fromage could also get the other Deform UK MPs to speak - Arthur Lowe, I think one is called, and the other one whose names I can never remember. If I can't even remember their names, Noel knows they could do with the publicity. Anyway, I will be heading up to Birmingham tomorrow for the conference. I will provide a full report in next week's blogpost.
One last item of note: I'd like to congratulate the ladies of the Gypping in the Marsh Women's Institute for the marvellous knitted pillar box cosy they have produced. It's very fetching, and they really have outdone themselves. It's just a shame that they didn't think to leave a hole for the letters.
Gilbert Murray MP
It has not been the best of weeks. (How many times have I written that recently?) I had been looking forward to the Deform UK 2024 party conference last week, especially given that not only was I booked to speak on the Saturday afternoon, but Fromage had asked me to do a 'light-hearted' turn on the Friday night. I was itching for a chance to try my hand at ventriloquism again after all these years, and had crafted a brand new dummy specially for the conference (my previous dummy, 'Little Adolf', having come to an unfortunate end back in the 1970s after a poorly-judged performance at a bar mitzvah). Unfortunately, things did not go as planned.
The audience was certainly in a boisterous mood - boyed up, no doubt, by Fromage's announcement that he was handing control of the party over to its members. (I'm not convinced that's such a good idea - have you seen some of the party members?) Anyway, things seemed fine at first, as I walked onto stage carrying the cardboard box containing my new dummy. I introduced myself as the crowd cheered wildly and waved their union flags in the air. Like me, I think most of the audience had been taking full advantage of the bar throughout the afternoon. Things were going swimmingly, I thought, as I sat down, opened the box and took out 'Little Nige', to rapturous applause and laughter.
My routine started off well enough, with most of the audience laughing heartily at Little Nige and his antics. However, as the act went on, and as my jokes got a little bit nearer the knuckle, I became aware of a rather different noise in the crowd - a rumbling sound of discontent, is the best way I can think of describing it - and it wasn't long before the sound of discontent became louder than the sound of laughter.
To cut a long story short, it seems that I had misjudged Fromage's capacity to laugh at himself. It turns out that the man has an extremely thin skin, and did not take at all kindly to my gentle ribbing with Little Nige. He made his displeasure apparent to some of his Clacton followers - I distinctly remember seeing him muttering to a few of his more heavily-set minders, who looked very like the ruffians who laid waste to the Cock and Bull the other month - and in no time at all they took matters into their own hands to bring my performance to an untimely close.
To be honest, my memory of what happened after that is rather hazy. What I do remember is that a group of skinheads surged as if from nowhere onto the stage, shoved me roughly to one side, seized Little Nige from my hands and set the poor little chap alight. The audience didn't really know what was going on, and fights quickly broke out in the auditorium between the skinheads and other groups of conference-goers. It was chaos. And then, everything went black.
I found out later, when I awoke in hospital, that I had been hit hard on the head with something heavy - quite possibly Little Nige's head, which I had painstakingly carved out of oak. The police, ambulance service and fire brigade were called out, and the conference centre was evacuated. I was deeply concussed, with minor burns and various cuts and bruises. Worse still, I ended up staying in hospital until Monday morning, so I missed the rest of the conference, including what was going to be my big speech on the Saturday afternoon. What a complete disaster - and all because Fromage can't take a joke. I am not impressed with the man.
On top of that, Little Nige did not survive the evening; he ended up as a smoking heap of ash on the stage. Not even his little bowler hat survived. All that hard work, gone up in smoke.
I hear that the rest of the conference was a bit of a let-down after that. Not only did my planned big speech not happen, but Time Team's Tommy Robinson failed to show up as well, so the audience had to make do with speeches from 'Offshore' Trice, '30p' Anderton, 'Arthur' Lowe and that other dubious chap who ended up becoming a Deform UK MP by accident (I still can't remember his name, although the CPS apparently knows him well). None of them are born speakers - Anderton can barely form a complete sentence, for Noel's sake. A damn poor show all round. Fromage needs to do better than this if he wants this party of his to go places. And I still haven't had an apology from the man about everything that happened. He's not even returning my calls - and nor are the rest of the Deform UK MPs. I am not a happy man.
Changing the subject completely, I noticed when I returned to Gypping in the Marsh late on Sunday after having been discharged from hospital that the ladies of the Women's Institute have produced another knitted pillar box cosy. Just like the one they made last week, this one is very attractive. This one has what I think is supposed to be a knitted cabbage on the front. Sadly, they have again forgotten to leave a hole for posting letters. Perhaps a little more thought is needed in the future, ladies.
Being thankful for small mercies, as I suppose I should be, at least I didn't have any more knocks on the door from the police this week. Noel knows, Welsby has enough on his plate at the moment as far as my affairs are concerned. Ah well, onwards and upwards.
Gilbert Murray MP
Read more about the goings-on in Gypping in the Marsh in 'The Aristocrat', in which Lord Murray, 18th Earl of Gypping, attempts to help a bank official appropriate funds from a dead German's bank account in order to save the roof of Hemlock Hall, aided and abetted by a supporting cast of strangely familiar aristocratic characters.
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