Following Fawlty

On a visit to the Carlton Club in St James's this week, I was reminded that political plotting and eating houses are inextricably linked. I was there for the launch of a new book about this doggedly all-male, Tory institution written by my friend Alistair Cooke (sadly, now the only one of that name).

With the Iron Lady herself (or 'Mother' as Alistair affectionately introduced her) looking on, Cooke recalled the Carlton's colourful history. It was here that a group of Conservative MPs successfully plotted in 1922 to bring down the post-war Coalition Government - and thus gave birth to the so-called 1922 Committee, which ever since has held Tory leaders to account. The Carlton is still a place where Tories plot in plush surroundings, sipping fine wine and gorging on high-cholesterol dinners.

You can tell a lot about politicians by the surroundings in which they scheme. Tories wield the knife in comfort. Blair and Brown famously conceived their own plot in the trendy Islington restaurant Granita - where the food was never as good as it pretended to be, as phoney as their friendship. And Westminster itself is full of what used to be smoky bars - places such as the Red Lion in Whitehall, where Brownites would spin for their man when Blair strutted the corridors of power.

Given the political drama surrounding the sudden political demise of harmless old Ming Campbell, I thought I'd take a look at the sort of watering hole where Lib Dems meet to plot - the Two Chairmen pub in Westminster, where the sad fate of the long-stockinged one was hatched. I took with me a rather imaginative lawyer, who was hoping that the place would be seeped in disreputable atmosphere. And indeed, our hearts were lightened by the old-fashioned lamppost outside, emerging out of the autumnal gloom straight out of Dickens. I've always believed that the Libs tend to flourish when they have the courage to show a bit of style. The last Liberal PM, Lloyd George, was, of course, a drunken, corrupt womaniser: but at least he had class. Decades later, Jeremy Thorpe - the first politician in the UK to use a helicopter --swashbuckled his way around the country and reaped the rewards. Well, until his infamous court case, that is. Even the SDP's David Owen had great elegance, with his impressive mane, silvery tongue and GP's bedside manner.

Style is not something the Two Chairmen has gone out of its way to cultivate, but the customers don't seem to care. I haven't been in a place this crowded for ages. It felt like walking on to an Eighties TV set, packed with wall-to-wall men drinking pints (where were the women?). The only things missing were a bloke in the corner selling dodgy jewellery, a mangy dog and the fug of smoke.

But how did those Lib Dem boys plot anything when the place was noisier than Clare Short in her heyday - and there was nowhere to sit? Ah, yes! They must have headed upstairs to the Dining Room, surely a haven of crisp linen-covered tables and leather-bound menus, all bathed in candlelight? Er, no. The room was bleak and bare and reminded me of a working men's club.

The Two Chairmen pub clearly elected to follow the Basil Fawlty Guide to Entertaining. Despite the sweet charm of the Polish barmaid, I was unapologetically told they'd 'run out' of fizzy water and nearly all their advertised wines were 'off'. (Lib Dems probably accept this with a sheepish shrug.)

It's Eighties pub grub, too, and just as bad as I remember. The hamburger bun was not only ice-cold, it had also been buttered! There is a curiously named City Sampler starter, which was like your worst nightmare - a plateful of chicken goujons, potato wedges and skewers of odd-tasting prawns spread over large chunks of supposedly outdoorreared sausages. I dread to think where. The garlic ciabatta was just soused, sliced white bread.

We had a guess-the-pudding competition, which nobody could have lost: all the usual suspects -apple pie, profiteroles, treacle sponge and custard - were there.

We left feeling slightly bemused. The Two Chairmen is in a curious and chaotic time warp, but you're kind of glad it exists. A bit like the Liberal Democrats.

The Two Chairmen
Dartmouth Street, London, SW1H 9BP