If there is such a thing as Labour royalty — and why not? — then Neil and Glenys Kinnock are it. In this way, the ceremony that took place yesterday in the House of Lords was a mere formality, another curlicue to add to the others, an acknowledgement of what we all already knew to be true. Indeed, in some ways, the House of Lords is almost a step down for these two.

Glenys spent her last moments as a commoner getting “robed” in the almost supernaturally grand Moses Room. Across the lobby, the chamber was at its most beautiful, giant candelabra lit, throne glistening.

There, behind the bishops, sat the man who used to be Neil Kinnock, and is now Baron Kinnock, of Bedwellty. (Others call him Lord Windbag but they are just jealous.) He sat, his arms wrapped around himself, beaming. He was still except for his mouth, which was, of course, moving. Up in the gallery, I spotted Sue Nye, the gatekeeper for Gordon Brown, the lioness of his inner circle, very much Labour family. A few Labour MPs sat on the throne stairs, as random as scatter cushions, there to pay homage to the golden couple.

Black Rod entered, stick gleaming, followed by Garter King of Arms, whose extraordinary tabard looked as if it had been nicked off a very expensive sofa. Then came a slight figure, topped with a silver-blonde bob, swamped by ermine. She was accompanied by the fiery-haired Baroness Royall, who is also Labour family, used to work for Neil and is now the Leader of the Lords (the gravy train is impressive sometimes, isn’t it?).

“Greeting!” cried a man in a periwig, having unrolled a scroll from the Queen. Neil, mouth now shut, possibly with tape, glowed. The periwig introduced “our right trusty and well-beloved Glenys Elizabeth, the Lady Kinnock, wife of the Right Honourable Neil Gordon, Baron Kinnock”. Simple folk. Simple titles. She will be known as Baroness Kinnock of Holyhead.

Now came the goodies. She must sit “among the barons”. She must “enjoy and use all the rights, privileges, pre-eminences, immunities and advantages” of being among the barons. What could this mean to a couple who, between them, already have six public sector pensions worth an estimated £185,000 a year?

She gave her oath, accent lilting, reading from what looked like a giant plastic placemat on the dispatch box. I wondered if Caroline Flint, who refused to be Minister for Europe because she was not window dressing, was watching her replacement.

Lady Kinnock made her way out, so nervous that she failed at first to acknowledge the Lord Speaker. Her fellow peers then turned their attention to a subject of great importance to them: incontinence. As one peer decried “bog-standard” incontinence products, Lord Kinnock slipped out of the chamber.

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