Journal Extracts
Foolishly, I had forgotten the authorisation sheet sent to me by
facsimile the previous week and the rather troubled clerk made much of this.
We sat and waited whilst various telephone calls were made and the situation began to resolve itself. Our guide was supposed to be
present as we arrived to meet us and lead us to the chamber but there was no sign of him. This coupled with the clerks boorish and unhelpful attitude had us waiting for a considerable time before we were able to proceed. It was apparent that unlike other visitors to the building, we were regarded suspiciously. Perhaps from now we should consider our appearance a little more. An ominous start.
After twenty minutes our escort arrived, a pleasant middle-aged man from the north east of England. He bore none of the anger of the clerk and we proceeded through labyrinthine corridors to the heart of government.
We passed oil paintings of indeterminate value, medieval sepulchres, domestic staff and cleaning equipment reeking of disinfectant. Oak panelling surrounded in marble walls crowded in on us as we made our way through the building.
Closed rooms and half open doors along endless corridors all promised something of my undefined goal, of power, lineage, an idea of England, dark dreams, long submerged within us and indistinguishable from our day to day thoughts.
At 8.23 am we arrived at the Central Lobby which opened up above us like a storm. The ceiling representations of Ireland, Scotland, Wales and England gave some sense of urgency to our passage through this anteroom and turning right we caught our first sight of the chamber of The Commons, warmly lit and largely un-navigated by outsiders such as ourselves.
The excitement was insufferable and as soon as we entered the chamber I instructed Laurent to unpack and assemble the equipment. I was immediately drawn to the space occupied by the leader and stared intently at the carpet immediately in front of his microphone until disturbed by Laurent handing me the camera and flashgun.