It’s rare that I laugh aloud while reading. Humour is a funny thing, and it’s striking when words on a page prove capable of tickling out an audible response. Still, that’s what occurred when reading the Labour to Liberal MP Christopher Mayhew’s autobiography, Time to Explain.

Though amusingly written throughout, the anecdote that particularly got to me was when Mayhew decided to make his maiden interruption in the House of Commons. Oliver Lyttleton, MP for Aldershot, was making a speech on the inflationary impact of compensation payments for nationalisation. Mayhew fancied himself somewhat of an expert on the subject, and without really realising it found himself rising to interject. Then the Speaker called his name and Lyttleton politely gave way.

As Mayhew described it:

There was a deathly, expectant hush. For about four seconds I thought very hard indeed. Then in a clear and confident voice I delivered myself of a single long sentence.

To this day I cannot discover what that sentence means. Nor can my economist friends, though we have discussed it at great length. But its effect was overwhelming. Poor Lyttleton blinked, hesitated, and then muttered that he could not follow the honourable and gallant Member’s point. And a roar of derision went up from the Labour benches (to show that of course they perfectly understood my shattering argument) and the day was won. The House is now firmly convinced that nationalization is not inflationary.

As well as being hilariously funny, the story illustrates the power of confidence in both politics and life more generally. If you remain calm and don’t get flustered by your mistakes, you can often get away without people noticing. Obviously, that is a lesson that can be taken to problematic extremes, but for those with a disposition towards self-doubt, Mayhew’s experience offers a useful reminder that most people are not scrutinising us nearly as closely as we imagine.