An alternative tour of the British Parliament
There comes a time in every political journalist’s career when your mother (or father or grandma or cousin plus best friend studying politics A-level) will politely request a tour of the Houses of Parliament. This will – naturally – fill you with panic. Familiarity with the revolving cast of MPs does not in and of itself equate to an in-depth knowledge of the history of our great centre of government. Under no circumstances can they be allowed to realise this. What follows is a guide for winging it, showing off parliament with maximum quirk and offering unique insights into the psychology of our great nation.
One. Start by reminding them that they can visit any time, without your behind-the-scenes pass. As well as the guided tours available, debates and committee hearings in both the Commons and the Lords are open to the public, free of charge. Anyone can turn up at the Cromwell Green entrance, go through the airport-style security scanners and observe democracy in action. The last time I took someone to the Lords, our noble friends were debating their own relevance (via the removal of hereditary peers). Their rhetorical eloquence regarding their ongoing existence was nothing short of awe-inspiring. Over in the Commons, MPs were talking about badgers.
Two. No, no, they want you to show them round. Entering through Westminster Hall gives you several opportunities for showing off your insider knowledge. You can point out where the late Queen Elizabeth lay in state, and more importantly where the British public turned queueing into a competitor sport (the team at Guinness World Records are still reviewing if it was the longest queue in history – it stretched for five miles, though this fails to include the supplementary queue that formed to join the queue). Remind them this cavernous space was once a 16th-century tennis court – a ball was found in the rafters in the 1920s. Highlight the entrance to the Chapel of St Mary Undercroft, where lurks the broom cupboard inside which Emily Wilding Davison spent the night of the 1911 census. She wanted to record her address as “the House of Commons” as part of a campaign for women’s suffrage. As a bonus, tell them the plaque commemorating this act of defiance was an act of defiance in itself, put up “quite illegally, without permission” by Tony Benn.
Three. The corridor leading from Westminster Hall to Central Lobby is bedecked with paintings commemorating moments of British history. Among them, be sure to note Sir Walter Thomas Monnington’s depiction of Queen Anne being presented with the Articles of Agreement for the Parliamentary Union of England and Scotland in 1707, adding that Ireland was not incorporated into the Union until 1801. This will pay dividends when, having allowed your group time to muse on the scenes of Crusades and imperial expansion, you can draw their attention to another painting: The Landing of Charles II at Dover 1660 by Edward Matthew Ward. There is a lavish, billowing Union Jack clearly visible – a flag which would not exist for another 141 years. It would, however, have been in use in 1864 when the painting was completed. Sly propaganda, or careless anachronism? Invite them to decide.
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Four. Inject yet more controversy by teaching your guests the wildly inappropriate way to navigate Central Lobby via the mosaics of the patron saints over the passageways: St George above the Lords (because the English think they, above all, are noble), St David above the Commons (because the English think the Welsh are common), St Patrick above the exit (because the Irish wanted to leave the Union), and St Andrew, the patron saint of Scotland, above the route to the bar. This is a great learning opportunity to discuss the pitfalls of stereotypes, but will also distract them from the mass of untamed cables snaking out of every hole in the walls.
Five. Which brings us to the most important tip of all: do try not to let anyone get hurt. On the beaten track, the worsening decay of the Palace of Westminster is merely hinted at; behind the scenes, it becomes a health-and-safety nightmare. Your guests will be thrilled by such tidbits as the fact that there are over 14 miles of pipework and 250 miles of cabling throughout the estate; less thrilled, perhaps, to learn that £1.5m of their taxes every week is spent on repairs. The cost estimate for the renovation – up to £39.2bn over 61 years – may prove the destabilising aspect of the day, at least until they nearly fall through a hole in the floor which wasn’t there when they arrived. (When my stepchildren last visited, this excitement far surpassed encountering Rishi Sunak on the stairs.)
For the grand finale, escort your group to view the collection of artworks by the Terrace cafeteria depicting the Great Fire of 1834 when parliament last burned down. Then casually mention the leak you spotted the other day dripping onto a plug socket, just before a mouse scampered past. That will stay with them, long after facts about Union flags have faded.
[Further reading: Nandy backs Andy but stalemate continues]
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This article appears in the 25 Mar 2026 issue of the New Statesman, Easter Special
