There is a place for panto in politics

Ah-ha: the nays have it. Rowdy behaviour in the Hoose o' Commons has reared its ugly head again, after the Speaker, John Bercow, described it as "yobbery and public school twittishness". In a separate development, he has written to the three main Westminster party leaders, calling for improvement. Presented with a dike he puts his finger in it.

Prior to this, that finger had been following the words in a Hansard Society report, which noted widespread public dismay over all the shouting and arm-flapping in the chamber. It's a common complaint. Among ordinary, non-political people (not to be sniffed at; they're the bedrock of the fear-influenced No vote), there's an instinctive horror at parliamentary revelries witnessed inadvertently on the telly news. This witnessing is usually followed by disparaging deployment of the words "grown men".

And, by the way, even abnormal, political people are not to be sniffed at. Society has its rules, you know. There appears little in the rules, either at Westminster or Holyrood, about shouting the odds. There's some guff about behaving yourself generally, and swearing will see you summoned forth to be poked in the eye before your peers by the Speaker or Presiding Officer.

But, beyond that, bad behaviour isn't much broken down into specifics, such as pointing in a psychopathic manner, eye-gouging (even if your own in a fit of rage), and making death threats from a sedentary position.

Parliament is pantomime, ken? But maybe there's a place for panto in politics. Looking behind the headlines, viewing Westminster in the flesh, it's not really that nasty. Holyrood is. I'm not sure why. It'll only get them bawling again but I'm compelled to say that it's overwhelmingly the fault of a Labour contingent. I have seen it with mine own eyes. And I'm not going to do truth a disservice by spurious, back-covering deployment of the disingenuous trope "both sides". Take someone on the same side as Scottish Labour: the Scottish Tories. Despite their philosophy and the ad hominem practice of both their past and current leader, they're relatively well behaved. They've no prospect of power and are, consequently, chilled.

Mind you, they're pretty much the same at Westminster, where they're in power. Maybe it's in the breeding. Early last century, Labour's proletarians aped the mores of the traditional power wielders in situ at Westminster. At Holyrood, despite early promises to be different, similar simian simulation has taken place.

But they haven't got it right. They haven't got the play-acting, slightly ironic tone. Instead, they're bulging of vein and staring of eye. They have the yobbery, but not the twittishness, perhaps because of a state school education. I've a solution to the problem in both parliaments: primary colours. I was reminded of their importance during a recent hospital visit.

I couldn't put my finger on what was so depressing about the place. Sure, there was the death, disease and misery, but we don't let little things like those get us down. Then I realised: the decor was all grey.

I don't understand the aversion to cheery colours in this country. Wooden furniture in my garden is painted blue and yellow. It gladdens the soul, soothes the nerves and makes one less prone to boorish behaviour. But it's hard to find anything in our DIY shops that isn't boring forest green or brown.

You say: "You would bring the colour of the nursery to our forums of decision-making, you big-nosed oaf?" Madam, I would. Ironically, nurseries are often adduced when people speak critically of Westminster or Holyrood.

But this is unfair on nurseries. In reality, they're places of order and decency compared to parliaments. If we brought the colours of the nursery to the debating chamber, behaviour might improve. Toys could be another idea.

But, yes, you're right: they'd only throw them.