With the PM’s future numbered in days no wonder Charles might have felt reading out the government’s agenda was not the best use of his time
T
he king looked fed up. His attempts to throw a sickie had come to nothing. Did the government really want to go ahead with the state opening? Apparently it did. Would it be OK if he phoned it in? He fancied a day WFP. Working from palace. It wouldn’t. It was a three-line whip. One of the few occasions a monarch was obliged to attend.
“My lords. Pray be seated,” Charles said. He sounded exhausted already. Where was everyone, he wondered. The Labour benches had plenty of gaps on them. The chronicle of a death foretold. Over on the Tory side of the Lords, there were fewer tiaras on display than usual. Must be because Claire’s Accessories has closed down. But at least he could see Chris Grayling. Always good to see someone being rewarded for abject failure. It’s the kind of thing that makes Britain great.
Charles sat down and started playing with his hands as everyone waited for Black Rod to go and fetch the MPs. A knock on the door of the Commons. “Not now, Andy,” joked Labour backbencher Torcuil Crichton. Keir Starmer looked worried for a while. He wouldn’t have put it past Burnham to have turned up at the worst possible moment.
