More from The Week

Dave Prentis, your time is nigh. Bob Crow, the country needs you at this hour. Derek Simpson, prepare for the call of history. As trade union leaders gather in Liverpool for the annual Trades Union Congress, their agenda items give no hint of the drama to come. Worthy motions will call forth windy speeches on composite resolutions about rights at work, equality in the workplace and public spending. Newspaper reports will be sparse and television coverage limited to five seconds of shouting from an unknown delegate and a short clip from the Prime Minister’s speech. The press may, whisper it, give short shrift to Salvador Valdes Mesa, the General Secretary of the Cuban Workers’ Confederation. All in all, there will be little sense of anything important unfolding.

During the bank holiday weekend, an email was circulating among high-ranking City financiers with the intriguing subject heading: ‘Message from George Osborne’. It was not a hoax. An executive from a fund management firm had written to the shadow chancellor’s office asking what plans the Conservatives had to reduce the deficit, as he had not read about such plans in the newspapers. He was sent a reply — which so shocked him that he sent it to every merchant bank from London to Hong Kong. ‘It looks light on content, to say the least,’ he wrote. ‘The currency markets smell blood in the water.’ It was a classic case of a political move looking mighty stupid in the real world.

Conservatism is beautifully simple. It flows from the belief that society is stronger and fairer when power lies with the many and not the few. It is about trusting institutions — the family, the community — while being sceptical about the grander claims of government. It is about believing that a man will spend the money he earns more wisely and justly than the state could ever do on his behalf. To be a conservative is, fundamentally, a vote of faith in mankind. But how can one distil all this into a soundbite? David Cameron has struggled to answer this question. He watched uncomfortably as William Hague (briefly) and then Iain Duncan Smith tried to import ‘compassionate conservatism’ from the US Republican party.

Few subjects animate the polenta- eating classes more than constitutional reform: tinkering with institutions excites the bien-pensant mind in the way that train sets excite ten-year-old boys. So it is no surprise that the expenses scandal triggered a fresh flurry of demands for wholesale upheaval of the political system and — in particular — proportional representation. It was always unclear why anyone would think that PR, a system that weakens the constituency link and empowers the party bosses who control the candidate lists, would ever reduce corruption. In search of better judgment, The Spectator consulted its readers on the sorts of reforms that might improve the system and then submitted their recommendations to a PoliticsHome opinion poll.

The sun-capturing atrium of Portcullis House is no substitute for the Californian coast but it may at least help Steve Hilton acclimatise. He is now back from his year-long absence — though he is still dressed as if he is heading for the beach. It is a reminder of the inverted sartorial hierarchy of the Conservatives. The lowly MPs wear suits and ties. The party’s senior officers are resplendent in open necks. And anyone dressing as scruffily as Mr Hilton signals the status of three-star general. There are precious few more reliable methods of working out who’s who in the Tory high command. David Cameron works with a semi-formalised network of relationships in which people’s official job titles give little idea of their true power.

Taking the country to war is one of the most serious decisions a government can make. So it is right and proper that once the troops return home, there is a full investigation. To the greatest extent possible — given intelligence relationships and the need not to reveal information that could compromise national security — that inquiry should be public. It is essential for maintaining trust that people understand and have confidence in how such decisions are made. There is, however, something deeply unedifying about the debate over the coming Chilcot inquiry into the Iraq war and its aftermath. This inquiry is being convened for all the wrong reasons.

The next few days will serve up plenty of reminders that this country does not have a written constitution. As the plotters decide how best to move against the Prime Minister, they will not be operating within any defined framework of rules to select a head of government. Rather, they will be muddling through. There will be much comment about the residual power of the monarch — notably, her ability to dissolve Parliament. But the Queen is wise enough to appreciate that for a modern monarch to exercise these prerogatives would be to ensure their rapid abolition. It is tempting to say that the coming turbulence shows why the United Kingdom needs a written constitution. But there is no inherent logic in this siren argument.

If the first rule of success is to follow a failure, then the 157th Speaker of the House of Commons, whoever he or she may be, is off to a good start. Michael Martin was everything a Speaker should not be: partial, too deferential to the executive and an opponent of transparency. His alleged comment that ‘I did not come into politics not to take what is owed to me’ sums up so much of what has gone wrong. His removal was a necessary first step in the process of once more making Parliament an effective institution, and one of which the British people can be proud. But it would be wrong to imagine that it is the expenses scandal alone that has brought the Commons into disrepute.