So far as I can tell, the leader of the House of Commons and lord president of the council rarely mentions this side of his ancestry. Not, I suspect, because he’s ashamed of it – a lorry driver’s rise to town mayor perfectly illustrates the Tory faith in individual enterprise – but because it doesn’t fit the caricature he has made of himself. The top hat, the tailcoat, the waistcoat, the striped trousers, the white tie, the six elaborately named children (one of them Alfred Wulfric Leyson Pius), the drawl, the languor: matched with a grandad who drove a lorry, such a creation becomes a pitiable mountebank, Alfred Doolittle dressed for a wedding, rather than the courtly eccentric, the “honourable member for the 18th century”, which is how Rees-Mogg likes to present himself.