Further to that point of order, Mr Speaker. Such is the length of our relationship and our friendship, which has been long suspected and about which I think we can now come clean, that I rushed here from Lincolnshire when I heard the news of your imminent departure. In an age of technocratic turgidity and mechanistic mediocrity, you have brought colour and style to this place. No one could deny your eloquence or your extraordinary, encyclopaedic grasp of facts, of which we are all envious. I do not know how you manage to remember not only facts about our constituencies but our birthdays, wedding anniversaries, children’s names—what don’t you remember, Mr Speaker?
You have given life to this place in a way that few could ever have managed and few of your predecessors achieved. You have made this place far more interesting than it would have been without you. But there is something else that is rarely said about you, and it is this. I fully recognise your sensitivity and humanity. There are countless acts of kindness that you have shown Members of this House that are never publicised—because they would not be by their nature—and to which it is only fair now to draw attention. When Members have had difficulties of one sort or another—the
trials and tribulations which are the inevitable consequences of life here—you have always been there for them. That work as our Speaker needs to be recorded and celebrated, and acknowledged today. I will miss you not only for your indulgence, of which I have been a frequent beneficiary, as you well know, but for your character and style, and that will last long after you leave the Chair, as I hope our friendship will.