Sketch: What harm’s a bit of pageantry – even if the commoner hasn’t the foggiest what’s going on?

For those involved, the State Opening of Parliament is certainly a lot of fun

Govey, baby: The Justice Secretary (centre) looking like a 16 century Austin Powers at the House of Lords yesterday (PA)

Two weeks ago, the Lord High Chancellor, who ordinarily goes under the name of Michael Gove, described the European Union as a ‘mock parliament.’

It’s a fair point. For democracy to work, people need to understand how their parliament works.

And it’s a point that was clearly weighing heavily upon his mind as, having offset his usual black-rimmed glasses with a silk ruff, gold brocade frock coat and breeches so as to affect the appearance of sixteenth century Austin Powers, he handed a wadge of goatskin parchment to a nonagenarian hereditary Head of State sitting on a throne and wearing a crown, before stepping back and exchanging a gracious smile with the Rouge Croix Pursuivant and the Maltravers Herald Extraordinary.

This is the normal order of things, and it is a matter of national urgency that sovereignty be returned from those ‘faceless bureaucrats’ in Brussels and restored under the noble care of the Gold Stick In Waiting, the Master of the Horse and the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod.

You may argue it doesn’t actually matter whether the people who pay for all this have even the vaguest clue what’s going on. Arguably, it’s nice that the Windsor Herald, the Richmond Herald, the Lancaster Herald and all the other absurd holders of antiquated offices get a nice day out. Ancient custom dictates their jobs only come with a £13.95 annual salary after all. And their taxpayer-funded tabards cost forty-five grand to replace, so they’re not even allowed to do a bit of casual weekend work at their local Mr Wimpy.

What’s wrong with a bit of pageantry after all? Certainly, it’s fun for those involved. There, seated on the red leather sofas drinking it all in was Baroness Uddin, who has graciously been allowed to return to the House of Lords after repaying £125,000 worth of expenses. There, opposite her, in his spotless ermine was Baron Taylor of Warwick. He got sentenced to twelve months imprisonment for false accounting in 2011, but that was a long time ago. How was a former judge and barrister meant to know that you should only claim a ‘daily allowance’ for days when you’ve actually come to parliament?

There on the back row was Baron Truscott of St James’s, his goatee now a little greyer than when, in 2009, he was suspended from the House having been filmed by undercover reporters discussing his possible use of parliamentary influence in return for cash.

Just along from him was Quentin Davies, now known as Baron Davies of Stamford, once the MP for Grantham, who defected from the Conservatives to Labour the night before Gordon Brown became Prime Minister, and who, having lost his seat at the 2010 election, was elevated to the peerage at the very first opportunity, a sequence of events long interpreted by many in Westminster as having been part of the deal.

It’s not so much a case even of it being who you know not what you know. Getting in here is simply about what you’re not prepared not to do.

You can dress it all up in antique titles, you can cover it in brocade and roll it in glinting diamonds purloined from every corner of the Empire, but it’s very hard indeed to hide the stench.