An open letter to the new Lib Dem peers

Well done! Now abolish yourselves.

Dear Olly, Brian, Zahida et al

Firstly, many congratulations to your elevation to the House of Lords as Lib Dem Peers. I have no doubt that this honour is a reflection of the days, months and years of public service you have given and you have been chosen because it is believed you will strengthen our legislature and make our country a better place to live. 

And now, on behalf of a grateful party, can I ask you to work tirelessly to remove yourself from the House.

I know this is hard. You’re probably still flushed with delight at the news, wondering when you’re having the robe fitting and ordering new stationary. And I don’t blame you in any way for accepting the honour – I would certainly have done the same. But you are  Lib Dem peers, tasked with delivering party policy, and party policy very clearly states that  ‘We will reform the House of Lords and replace it with an elected second chamber ’. And that is what you must now fight to do. You are the enemy within.

If you need some inspiration, you could do worse that spend 15 minutes listening to Lord Ashdown doing exactly that in the House – but in case you haven’t got time (those robes won’t fit themselves you know), here’s a handy extract.

“I just ask my noble colleagues in this place, whether they find it acceptable, at a time when people are dying for democracy, that we should have in This Place, somewhere that fundamentally infringes the fundamental principles of a democratic state. Which is that the peoples laws are made by the peoples representatives”.

We know the peers in the House of Lords do good work. But the best work they could do would be to abolish themselves and replace the structure with representatives chosen, not by patronage, but by votes.

For what its worth – I’d vote for someone who delivered that.

Photograph: Getty Images

Richard Morris blogs at A View From Ham Common, which was named Best New Blog at the 2011 Lib Dem Conference

Getty
Show Hide image

Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

0800 7318496