I am in front of an electrical panel. A tray is placed on it to collect the drops from a vault likely to run off. A tube connects the tray to the floor. And the ground is regularly inspected to see if it is wet, which would indeed be a sign of a leak. Insofar as water and electricity do not mix well, this installation seems precarious.
In every direction stretch countless miles of electrical wires and pipes, lianas of high-voltage cables, a cosmos of hissing and humming devices, water vapor, puddles, sweltering heat, chatterton, aluminum, warning signs, pipes, cooling units and smoke extractors, long pipes in which the rats spin. There are old paint buckets placed to collect other drips, plastic trash cans filled with old cups, cardboard boxes, abandoned cable trays, old office chairs. There is a steam powered lift pump which dates back to Victorian times. There is asbestos.
A huge toxic bomb
Beautiful cast-iron pillars that form a circle, nicknamed “the kiosk”, indicate that there is something majestic above: this ensemble supports the great hall of the Palace of Westminster, an imposing octagonal room lit by chandeliers. Around this large hall unfolds a maze of rooms, staircases and corridors as complex as the technical basement, but more refined: fan vaults, tracery, stained glass, frescoes, encaustic tiles.
In those fairy lofty spheres, somewhere above the electrical panel topped with a drip tray, Prime Minister Boris Johnson [juillet 2019-septembre 2022] and the leader of the Labor opposition, Keir Starmer, will face off on the day of my visit on government issues. It seems frightening that the democratic life of the United Kingdom takes place above what looks like a huge toxic bomb. A number of them think that the situation is indeed dangerous. Andrea Leadsom, MP and former Minister for Relations with Parliament, warns that the Palace of Westminster could be “British Notre Dame” – it risks, like the roof of the Parisian cathedral, going up in smoke.
Others play it down, but almost all the political figures, all the civil servants and consultants in charge of watching over the building agree: something has to be done. “People are sincerely worried”, says Mark Spencer, [ancien] Minister responsible for relations with Parliament [février-septembre 2022], waving at the exterior of his Tudor-style office. MP Meg Hillier, Chair of the Public Accounts Committee, adds: “Staff shouldn’t have to work in a dangerous place. It is unacceptable.”
Back to square one
It remains to organize the renovation of the building, a thorny issue if ever there was one. Some, including Brexit Party MP Jacob Rees-Mogg, Mark Spencer and – apparently – Commons Speaker Sir Lindsay Hoyle, question the experts’ advice on the budget and timetable. In February 2022, it was decided to dissolve the body responsible for project management, independent of Parliament and created to manage the restoration and renovation program. She would have given bad news, concerning both the budget and the duration of the relocation outside.
“Politicians no longer trust the contracting authority”, says Mark Spencer, so we had to get rid of it. Many, like Andrea Leadsom and Meg Hillier, are appalled by this turnaround. “The authorities of the House, said Meg Hillier at the end of June, have unilaterally sent this gigantic, nationally, historically, culturally and politically crucial project back to square one. They overturned decisions made by both chambers [du Parlement] without explaining why they had destroyed the current project.”
The estimated cost is currently between 8 and 15 billion[d[d