CHARLIE Chuckle’s Laughter Factory was back on top form last week when some inmates turned into little green-eyed monsters over the trifling matter of who should or should not get a free BlackBerry.

Give them something really important to debate and their eyes glaze over as they coast through in neutral, droning on because they feel they have to, until everyone loses the will to live and some bright spark calls for the vote.

However, when one of the inmates attempts to upset the applecart in a vain attempt to take away cherished perks, Jersey’s political debating chamber comes into its own. Members rise to the challenge of protecting little fiefdoms like a pride of mother lions facing a pack of ravenous hyenas.

And so it was during the debate on whether ministers and their sidekicks should get free BlackBerrys.

It was somewhat insensitive that the day after having sacrificed Plémont and its dwindling colony of puffins on the altar of saving public money, our beloved politicians were yet again feathering their own nests. The lengthy debate was a prime example of the politics of envy, more suited to a nursery playground where toddlers get in a strop because some have more sweets than others.

The Island’s politicians now fall into three categories: ministers, second-in-commands (who are the power-makers) and the ordinary ‘grunts’, who make up the numbers.

If Lord Mandelson managed to run the country from a Greek island with nothing but a BlackBerry last August, who is to deny our ministers the same essential political perk?

Unfortunately, this means that the poor deprived backbenchers have to make do with ordinary mobile phones and laptops – but that’s another story.

One Member, I can’t recall who, made a comment during the debate that made yours truly’s ears prick up. In a vain attempt to lighten the proceedings, he asked what would be next on the list of freebies, and suggested free Smart cars for the Chuckle Brothers and Sisters.

Now that is not as silly as it sounds. A fleet of 53 Smart cars would come with a significant discount and could be put to many more productive uses than a versatile BlackBerry. A distinctive States livery would go a long way to identifying the driver as an elected representative of the people. Moreover, it would give other motorists something productive to do while stuck in traffic jams – such as haranguing the occupant on the sorry state of the Island.

Smart cars require less space for parking, so a designated States Members’ car park could be created in some new town development as part of a planning gain.
This fleet of political jalopies could also be sponsored, thereby recouping the initial investment. The mind boggles at what could be emblazoned across the bodywork.

And rather than let these little motors sit idle during lengthy debates, how about creating a loan scheme on the lines of the long-lamented green bikes? Shoppers could hire them during the day as long as they were returned in time for the Members to make the journey home after a long day running our lives.

Bedecked in hydrangeas, the States Smart cars could take part in the Battle of Flowers. Or the occupants could be trained in the skills of formation driving to appear at the West Show and the Foire de Jèrri. Who knows, Jersey could end up with a motorised formation team to rival the Imps motorcycle display team or the King’s Troop of the Royal Horse Artillery.

But why stop at free BlackBerrys or cars? To ensure that each of our beloved politicians demonstrates the same degree of sartorial elegance required to represent the Island on the world stage, why not negotiate a bulk order discount at a Savile Row tailor for double-breasted suits (with skirt options for lady Members) for the winter, and safari suits for the warmer months, with pith helmets coming as optional accessories?

There is one thing I learned in my early days as a States reporter: you have to laugh, because otherwise you’ll spend a long time crying. The outcome of last week’s debate epitomised that philosophical approach to this Island’s parliamentary proceedings.

We have a farcical situation whereby the inmates are allowed to take their little toys into debates, but they can’t play with them – unless, that is, they are a minister or a minister’s sidekick, and then only as long as those toys are BlackBerrys and not run-of-the-mill mobile phones.

Try to keep up – it gets even better. Laptops, it appears, are the exclusive preserve of the Crown Officers and are not for mere mortal politicians, not even the Chief Minister.

For those who do not possess a mobile phone or a BlackBerry – yes, such people do exist, and I am defiantly and proudly one of them – there is the tried and tested method of scribbling notes and passing them around the Chamber.

As the great Jersey public pay the wages of those we foolishly trust to govern us, surely we can expect their undivided attention when it comes to making the decisions that affect our lives? Children are not allowed to use mobile phones in lessons or to pass notes around a classroom. Likewise, employers implement similar rules in the workplace. Have our very own States forgotten approving a law in the interests of road safety, making it illegal to drive while talking into a hand-held mobile phone?

Yet when it comes to States debates, for all we know, Members could be playing solitaire, booking flights to exotic and far-flung destinations or organising social lives when they should be working for us. When we put them in the driving seat, it was with the expectation that they would keep their eyes on the road.

If the Standing Orders, which govern States sittings, state that before entering the Chamber all electronic devices must be switched off, then so be it. Is it too much to ask that politicians abide by the same rules as the people?