The English Houses of Parliament are fascinating historical institutions.
I’m inclined to rant and rave about how they actually work, although opinions on the upper house have been overtaken by the horror of Dave and his mates. A general election looms, so be warned, bloggy buddies. Outrage may drag my brain from the foggy depths to
complain comment here in an articulate fashion.
The Conservative party did not win the last election. They have had no mandate for demonising the sick as ‘scroungers’ or privatising parts of the National Health Service. They have simply ignored all protest, while lying, cheating and manipulating their way to bigger bank accounts. Perhaps it was always thus. Those in power look after themselves.
The House of Lords is where those with hereditary privilege or granted ‘honour’ review legislation and hold the works of the lower house to account. Or something.
As a white, educated, European I recognise my own privilege in the world, but that of the ruling class is of a different character altogether. Champagne, anyone?
Woolly jumper, lefty, pinko, naïve ?? All of those things. Also, curious.
Oh yes, I’m off to parliament on Tuesday.
How could I resist? I know folk who have turned down invitations to royal events because they do not support the status quo. I am less principled, or simply more nosey. I’m not going to be invited to a garden party, or get an honour. I’m taking my chance to look round me when I get it.
The PSP Association are having an awareness raising reception in parliament, and Ditzy and I are going on a day trip. There will be many emotions: “Look what you made me do, Ma”, “Pops, how did I end up here- are you watching”, “Can I lie down yet?”, “This is where they have their tea?”, and much exhaustion.
I’m so excited, I just can’t hide it. (Ditzy and I may be wearing these outfits.)