In my mid-30s I have discovered what so roused the adolescent William Hague late at night in bed. He was only 13, but I am as excited now as he was then. I have started to read Hansard every day.
Hague has two excuses for this dangerous addiction. "I didn't just read Hansard as a teenager," he told our top political interviewer, Des O Connor, recently. No, the young William enjoyed all the other conventional teenage pursuits. He put his Hansard down and rocked the night away.
Hague's other excuse, expressed to Des and other interviewees, is that, for anyone interested in politics in the 1970s, Hansard was required reading as a minority government stumbled towards its historic election defeat. I agree. The election itself was brought about by a dramatic scene in the Commons in which the government lost a vote of confidence. The Hansard of that night in 1979 is worth reading, to this very day.
So those are Hague's excuses. But what excuse can I have for reading it on the eve of 1999? Let me state right away that my life is not taken up by Hansard, either. I dance the night away to the prescribed new Labour diet of Simply Red's Great-est Hits and Dire Straits at least once a week. If Hague was cool at 13, I can make such a claim now. But what is more, and this is the substantive point (as they sometimes say in late-night debates reported in Hansard), what happens in the Commons matters still and can even be quite exciting.
The drama and significance are not as constant as they were when Hague had a Hansard handy under the duvet. How could it be, when the first Labour government since the 1970s has such an enormous majority? Yet the observation that "the House of Commons no longer matters" is made so casually these days that no one reflects for a moment on the consequences if it were true. For sure, some powers have been pooled in the EU and this government of supposed control freaks is giving up some of its Westminster-based powers to other parts of the UK. Even so, are we really saying that the legislative chamber to which we elect our representatives is irrelevant?
Thank goodness the perception is wrong. Even in the 1990s, when broadcasting studios have become the location for more reported political debate than anywhere else, the Commons has been the scene of the most significant and dramatic political moments. Reading Hansard between 1992 and 1997, for example, would be enough in itself to convey the storm that engulfed the Major government: the votes of confidence, the late- night rebellions, the prime-ministerial speeches that attempted to bind the wounds, the defiance of back-bench MPs, both in speeches and questions.
Over the past 12 months, even when the new government was moving confidently into its stride and starting to devolve power, the Commons staged some important moments. Hague's rejection of Lord Cranborne's "deal" over the Lords was a moment of high political theatre, but resonant with meaning as well. To appreciate the degree of opposition within the Parliamentary Labour Party to electoral reform, and the passion that some Labour MPs feel about the subject, the recent Commons debate on the issue is much the best source.
The range of debates is also more impressive than I imagined in my pre-Hansard days. My involvement with the new BBC2 programme Despatch Box, which reports and discusses the parliamentary day, obliges me to monitor one day of questions and debates each week. I have been surprised by their quality and topicality, even on the more mundane days. I recall one afternoon recently when there were revealing debates or exchanges on the involvement of the private sector in schools, on registers for nannies, and on arrangements for next summer's Euro elections.
What is more, the lack of interest in the Commons has had a perverse consequence. Ministers tend to be more candid in the chamber than they are outside, on the assumption that their words won't be reported. Take June 1997 when, during Home Office questions, Jack Straw argued strongly that there was no manifesto commitment to introduce PR for the European elections and no obligation for the government to act in such a way. A week or so later, Blair announced PR for the elections, and has argued ever since that it was a manifesto commitment. I suspect Straw would have been more discreet in a television studio.
What lessons arise from my belated discovery of Hansard's joys? You may think, first, that I urgently need intensive therapy and that the NS should pay for it. But there is another, more important lesson: that Tony Blair should be wary of underperforming in the Commons.
In opposition, there were times when he was outstanding, albeit against the kind of vulnerable target that leaders dream of. In a recent PM's Question Time, when he spoke forcefully about the importance of being a pro-European government, Blair was outstanding again. Sometimes, though, he gives the impression that the whole charade is a waste of time. But it is not. The Commons remains at least as important an arena as the newspapers where Tony Blair's articles frequently appear, not least because the performances in the Commons are reported in the very same papers.
Conversely, Hague's low standing is in spite of his Commons performances. His debating bravura has mattered, giving him greater authority, at least with his own demoralised backbenchers. He would be in even more dire straits (I can't get that band's name out of my cool head) without his Commons successes.
Still, even addicts need a break. For three weeks, there will be no Hansard. William and I have no choice but to rock'n'roll through Christmas.
