Lapsed Already …

Saturday! 8^th August!

Hampton by Hilton Hotel, Luton.

Really it seemed like such a good idea at the time: a tour of the Houses of Parliament (eight hundred years after King John “Lackland” signed the Magna Carta that, arguably, started this whole democracy thing going here). It seemed like a bargain when we actually booked it: tour of said Houses, overnight in a hotel, breakfast and evening meal thrown in –and coach from Walsall bus station (moreorless) …

But then it cruelly transpires that it’s the first day of the football season. Worse saddlers are at home for that first game … and it seems eminently winnable (as per usual of course): unsettled Oldham Athletic. The local papers have been full of “this-is-the-season” talk, of Dean Smith or one of the “talking head” players coming out with how ell pre-season training has gone and the new signings (three, count ‘em; three) will bring great benefits to the inevitable promotion push. Sorry, I am a staunch supporter: loyal beyond the call …

… and anyway, sticking doggedly to the decision to see the Homes of Democracy, Constitution and Majesty, resign myself to missing an opening victory.

So many coach tours leaving from Walsall: to the O2, to London shows, to this place or that; and so many passengers waiting. It made me positively cheerful on a warm morning. We waited in the Victoria gardens adjacent to the impressive Houses of parliament and while we were snacking on our packed lunch observed, right next to us the result of thievery: some poor woman becoming hysterical because she had felt a bump, just after she had bought a guide book, thought nothing of it but now her purse (£120 pounds sterling and credit cards have disappeared). Eventually after standing and ignoring the extremely upset woman two policemen were encouraged by a French tourist to “help her” (she had refused our offers of help).

 

The crowds and babel of chatter seemed so much more threatening after that and I was glad to get into the building. But the audio tour, though informative failed to inspire. This is the real home of Western democracy; though we may get the word from Ancient Greece what we have here is very different in its breadth and inclusion. The Magna Carta forced the monarchy to recognise and grant certain rights to the already powerful en of the times, but successively more and more of the people have been given rights. Though exactly how Cromwell’s Commonwealth failed to finish off the crown is beyond me. The geography of the place is easier in my mind now, the rooms somewhat familiar from TV views are small, if not cramped and undoubtedly full of gravitas. I cannot help thinking however that the performance of MPs in debates appears like a poorly managed classroom: loud and lacking in intelligence.

But the magnificent history of the institution is lacking and the commentary is spoken without passion and pride.

We leave via the cramped café and necessary liquid refreshment and end up in Dean’s Court: a quiet oasis behind Westminster cathedral. Dean’s Court reminding me of dean’s Court Road, one time home ground of Premiership new boys: Bournemouth who, in 2008 were hopelessly deep in financial problems – and toady, with backing from the obligatory money-bagged Russian are playing against the big dogs of the Premier League. Proving that dreams can become reality (though money helps the process) … and, of course everything is to be won or lost.

At nine, after a poor meal (poor choice, no service and health and safety colder than permissible (at an intelligent guess) I am back in the room to watch Channel 5’s Football league Show: the first ever. Promising to show highlights of every football league game so Walsall will be on there somewhere. I remember predicting a 4 – 1 win and I still, as the programme “kicks off” have not heard the score line. There is some comedy; in one game a courteous back pass to the goalkeeper goes unexpectedly into the net, so the hmmm offending team literally let the opposition walk the ball into their own net as recompense. Wolves win away from home with gaol from a diving header that the striker actually cannot reach so propels into the net with his hand: blatantly. The look of embarrassed surprise on his face when the goal is given is priceless. What should he do at this point? Tell the referee that he handled the ball?

But the Walsall game has few sparse seconds. Sawyers scores after eight minutes, then close to the end Oldham equalise. Next please …

Shame I could have spent longer in the bland (diplomat speak for boring) dining room/bar wondering what the 3-D displays in the glass cases were. Hatboxes of course. Luton … Luton Town: the Hatters. Luton was famous for the hat making industry before Vauxhall Motors took over the town. And the hotel stands on land – next to the railway – that once was covered with popular cars and white vans on their way to successful markets all over Europe. But that was then and this is now and some visionaries have designs on the land again.

 

Ironically I also notice that the location of the football ground is only just squeezed into the corner of the free hotel courtesy map and I wonder whether Walsall hotels have maps that show the location of Bescot. I certainly hope so: not being “on the map” is surely one of the ways to obscurity.

Buckingham Palace tomorrow; if I can get some sleep.