Baron Wastelands

A whistle-stop tour of London’s disappointing barons and the peers we could’ve had.

Barons: we imagine them as rural land magnates, shagging the wives of their miserable villein tenantry or bullying King John into signing Magna Carta. Newsflash, House of Lords-heads. There are modern, urban barons too. Barons, indeed, who stalk the very streets of our capital. Plenty of opportunity there, you’d think, for maverick aristos with amusing names. Alas no: meet the real (and imagined) Barons of London.

the baron of paddington

Who he should be: A jolly, roly-poly baron in a duffel coat, and a squashed hat concealing a marmalade sandwich. Always in some scrape or another but basically lovable. A magnificent ambassador for Britain around the world, a cunningly disguised soft-power projection of the sort of country we want people to think we inhabit.

Who he actually is: Shaun Bailey, best known for a) getting in trouble for his attendance at a lockdown-busting party at Conservative Party HQ despite being chair of the London Assembly’s police and crime committee, and having to then resign, and b) losing an election to Sadiq Khan.

the baroness of soho

Who she should be: A louche, wasp-waisted, 6’9” drag queen, only spotted between the hours in basement cocktail bars so fashionable that you’ve never even heard of them, or propping up the bar of the French House. Always smoking a cigarette through a holder; failing that, taking hard drugs and shouting at tourists that it’s ‘not a bloody theme park’.

Who she actually is: Martha Lane Fox, who made lots of money out of the Paleo-internet and now is on more committees than you’ve had overpriced Greek Street dinners.

the baron of hampton court

Who he should be: A bearded, ruddy-faced hooray, wielding enormous power with zero responsibility. Hugely fiscally unwise, full of capricious whims, with an enormous coterie of hangers-on and able to buy the friendship of the very highest in the land.

Who he actually is: Evgeny Lebedev, the bearded media baron and best mate of Boris Johnson, who elevated him to the upper house. Co-owns a pub with Ian McKellen; co-owns the Independent website and the Evening Standard. Baron of not only Hampton Court but also of Siberia, giving him by far the longest commute between his two residences.

the baron of marylebone

Who he should be: A gleaming, urbane smoothie, who owns countless high-end hotels so clean they could be hospitals and lots of private medical clinics so cushy they could be hotels, plus dozens of high-end delicatessens where nobody looks like they’re enjoying themselves.

Who he actually is: Boris Johnson’s brother Jo, best known for a) being Boris Johnson’s brother, b) Resigning from Boris Johnson’s cabinet soon after Boris became PM, c) eventually being given a peerage by his brother anyway.

the baroness of little venice

Who she should be: A barge-based Baroness, who lives on the waterways and only comes to land either to menace money out of passing tourists or to change the sewage tank.

Who she actually is: Camilla Cavendish, an arch-Cameroonite and former Times and FT journalist who tragically lapsed into other careers which involve actually getting things done. Largely responsible for the Soft Drinks Industry Levy and therefore for Lucozade now tasting rubbish.

the baron of richmond park

Who he should be: A magnificent lordly stag. Failing that, a sky-clad yet roguish Earth Father, devoted to the trees and the sky and ready for constant battle against the Lycra Mob.

Who he actually is: Zac Goldsmith, best known for a) being an environmentalist and then resigning over the government’s total disinterest in climate policy, b) losing an election to Sadiq Khan (see also: the Baron of Paddington) c) being extremely rich.

the baroness of kennington

Who she should be: A vague, ill-defined peer with very few defining features, really only useful for filling the space which would otherwise be taken up by the baronesses of Walworth, Oval, Lambeth and the twin baronies of Elephant and Castle.

Who she actually is: A totally inoffensive-seeming woman named Anne Jenkin, notable for lots of worthy achievements but also for being one of the very first members of the House of Lords to use the phrase ‘Fucking Tory Cunt’ in the upper chamber (admittedly she was quoting someone else, but still).

the baroness of belgravia

Who she should be: A powerbroker to the big money. Impeccably dressed, steely-eyed, with intimate knowledge of the sordid lives of all the ultra-wealthy who pass through her terrain.

Who she actually is: Fiona Shackleton, the divorce lawyer, who has represented actual royalty (Charles; Andrew), pop royalty (Paul McCartney), and Middle East royalty (Princess Haya bint Hussein). Actually fits her brief. Supposedly nicknamed ‘Steel Magnolia’; not to be confused with the 1989 Dolly Parton dramedy of the same name.

the baron of clapham

Who he should be: A twentysomething baron currently spending £1800 a month (courtesy of his parents) for a room with his old uni mates in an absolutely rank five-bed house just off the Common. The B.O.C. spends his mornings in loud gyms, his nights throwing up outside Infernos, and generally has a bloody good time before eventually moving further out and growing up when he turns 29.

Who he actually is: Gus O’Donnell, a former Cabinet Secretary who ran the Civil Service and was nicknamed GOD. As Wikipedia puts it, this latter fact was ‘mainly’ because of his initials.