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I was wrong. Joining the privy council did, however, improve my formal status. As soon as I promised to defend the Queen against "all foreign princes, persons, prelates, states or potentates" I became Right Honourable for life. From then on every postman knew that I was (or had been) a big noise in Whitehall and Westminster. And that is the privy council's principal purpose. Membership is a medal. Old politicians wear the distinction as if it were part campaign ribbon and part wound stripe.
Traditionalists and romantics still pretend that the privy council is more than a footnote to the "dignified" - that is to say outdated - part of our constitution. Harold Wilson once assured Richard Nixon that, because he was addressing ministers who had taken the privy council oath, he could speak freely about nuclear strategy. No doubt the secrets of the Pentagon remained secure. But I doubt if it was the promise "not (to) know or understand of any manner of thing to be attempted, done, or spoken against Her Majesty's person, honour, crown, or dignity royal" which prevented the president's audience from running out of Downing Street to phone the Soviet embassy.
Quoting those words from the privy council's oath is certainly an offence and possibly treason. Members are required to "keep secret all matters committed and revealed unto you or that shall be treated secretly in council". So I should not describe the Gilbertian meeting at which I promised to "defend all jurisdictions, pre-eminences and authorities granted to Her Majesty".
I can, however, reveal that, during the rehearsal which preceded the main event, the secretary to the council felt it necessary to explain why he was anxious about what was to follow. Wallace Rawling, prime minister of New Zealand, had been made Right Honourable in absentia. He would therefore be "sworn" separately. The Queen did not like the privy council to drag on.
Joel Barnett (chief secretary to the Treasury) then explained that he wished to swear his oath of allegiance on an Old Testament. Brian O'Malley (minister of state at the Department of Social Services) added that he must have a Douay Bible. Shamed by their bravery into confessing my own heresy, I exercised the dissenter's right to affirm. That left a judge to perform the usual ritual in the first of five separate ceremonies.
The Queen remained calm. But, as we left the audience chamber, Jim Callaghan, one of the old hands who had been on duty that day, led me towards an archbishop (I think he was York) who was about to do what is required of archbishops before they assume their archdioceses. Putting an avuncular arm round my shoulder, Jim enquired "Have you met Roy Hattersley? Her Majesty had to keep you waiting because he wouldn't swear on the Bible".
In the 25 years since that fateful day, I have attended only one privy council meeting. Like most cabinet ministers I was reluctant to waste my time - though at least (unlike some of my colleagues) I was never required to travel to Balmoral for a pointless ceremony which is, at best, a convenient legal fiction built round the senior ministers, judges and archbishops who become Right Honourable as a matter of course.
At worst the privy council is neither an instrument of baronial tyranny nor the last bastion of monarchist power. It is simply pointless. The usual complaint against it (normally made by Tony Benn) is that it is the institution through which orders in council are made and the royal prerogative exercised - both potential abuses of our parliamentary system. But the blame lies with ministers. The privy council only provides the flummery which camouflages their autocracy.
Orders in council are often no more than the mechanism which activates secondary legislation - clauses of an act of parliament which come into force when the orders are made. The real danger to democracy is the royal prerogative. It began life as the instrument by which the monarch overruled Lords and Commons. But after the sovereignty of parliament was established, ministers, acting in the monarch's name, used the prerogative to legitimise decisions which they took without parliamentary approval.
Ten years ago, a progressive chief constable - who did not wish to change the character of his police force by equipping it with CS gas - was warned that, unless he "voluntarily" accepted the Home Office's instruction, the policy would be imposed on him "under the royal prerogative". There was even some talk of John Major using the device to ratify the Maastricht Treaty if the House of Commons would not pass the necessary resolution.
No government could have survived so gigantic an affront to parliamentary government. But the royal prerogative is still used to legitimise smaller acts of autocracy. In other democracies, appointments to the cabinet are ratified (or not) by the legislature and dates of elections are decided by statute. In Britain, ministers take office and parliament is dissolved under the royal prerogative. Do not blame "the Queen in council". Power lies with politicians. So does the opportunity for power's abuse.
That does not mean that its judicial committee - which meets from time to time to consider cases of especial constitutional significance - is either powerless or pointless. But, like the House of Lords "acting in its judicial capacity", it is just a fancy name for a collection of senior judges. The aura of the privy council is attached to both institutions because of two peculiarly English diseases - the belief that association with the sovereign reinforces authority and the conviction that antiquity increases respect.
So the privy council is not just an anachronism. It is one of those elements in our constitution which, because they have arcane rules and archaic associations, exist to prove that real power lies in places remote from everyday life. The mystery and magic of the monarchy and everything which flows from it are meant to be living proof of the distinction between them and us. The privy council is part of the deferential society. A genuinely radical government - anxious to promote the idea either of equality or meritocracy - would politely suggest to the Queen that she confirmed her desire to modernise the monarchy by announcing that she no longer needed "privy" advisers.
Yet most meetings of the privy council, although shrouded in secrecy, are concerned only with trivia. The one item of business which I recall was "to appoint the chaplain of Wadham College, Oxford", a duty to which the Queen reasonably reacted by asking "Why do I do this?" Michael Foot, lord president of the privy council, was ready with an explanation. "Wadham," he began, "was my college".
There followed a fascinating account of Oxford history from medieval times. We had just arrived at the Reformation when the Queen - with brilliant timing and perfect courtesy - thanked him and declared the privy council over. That is exactly the right attitude towards the whole unnecessary business.
Those Right Honourables
There are currently just over 500 members of the privy council, including all senior members of past and present governments. This "magic circle", with regency offices in Carlton Gardens near Buckingham Palace, has a staff of two dozen officials, mostly dealing with miscellaneous appeals and university matters. The Labour government's leader of the house, Margaret Beckett, has the job of organising regular meetings of privy councillors with the Queen. The members, who only ever meet in full on the monarch's death or announcement of intention to marry, include:
Prince Charles
Prince Philip
The Archbishop of Canterbury
The Archbishop of York
The former Archbishop of York, the Right Rev Lord Habgood
The Earl of Airlie, hereditary peer and royal lord-in-waiting
Lord Ackner, former law lord
Sir William Aldous, appeal judge
Sir Robin Auld, appeal judge
Lord Bingham, lord chief justice
Sir Gordon Bisson, New Zealand appeal judge
Sir Thomas Eichelbaum, lord chief justice of New Zealand
Lord Ampthill, hereditary peer and deputy speaker of the Lords
Sir Jeremy (Paddy) Ashdown, former Liberal party leader
Jeremy Thorpe, former Liberal party leader
James Bolger, former prime minister of New Zealand
Betty Boothroyd, former Speaker of the Commons
Tony Benn, former Labour minister
Barbara Castle, Baroness Castle of Blackburn, former Labour minister
Alun Chalfont, Lord Chalfont, former Labour minister
Tony Blair, prime minister
Paul Boateng, home office minister
Lord Camoys, hereditary peer and lord-in-waiting
Lynda Chalker, Baroness Chalker of Wallasey, former Conservative minister
Edward du Cann, former Conservative minister
Margaret Thatcher, former Conservative prime minister
Toby Low, Lord Aldington (until his death this month)
Jonathan Aitken (until his resignation after a conviction for perjury)
Other privy councillors include:
Chataway, Sir Christopher
Clarke, Kenneth
Cockfield, Lord
Cook, Robin
Cooper, Sir Frank
Cowen, Sir Zelman
Cradock, Sir Percy
Cranborne, Viscount (also known as Lord Gascoyne-Cecil)
Crawford and Balcarres, Earl of
Cunningham, Jack
Davies, Denzil
Davies, Ronald
Deedes, Lord
Devonshire, Duke of
Dobson, Frank
Fellowes, Lord
Ferrers, Earl
Field, Frank
Foot, Michael
Fowler, Sir Norman
Fox, Sir Marcus
Gowrie, Earl of
Gummer, John
Hague, William
Hailsham of St Marylebone, Lord
Hale, Dame Brenda
Harman, Harriet
Hattersley, Lord
Healey, Lord
Heseltine, Michael
Hoffman, Lord
Holme of Cheltenham, Lord
Irvine of Laing, Lord
Janvrin, Sir Robin
Jay of Paddington, Baroness
Jowell, Tessa
Kaufman, Gerald
Kennedy, Charles
Kinnock, Neil
Lamont of Lerwick, Lord
Lane, Lord
Lange, David
London, the Bishop of
Longford, Earl of
MacGregor, John
Mandelson, Peter
Mara, Ratu Sir Kamisese
Mellor, David
Merlyn-Rees, Lord
Murray of Epping Forest, Lord
Owen, Lord
Palliser, Sir Michael
Patten, Christopher
Perth, Earl of
Peters, Winston
Pindling, Sir Lynden
Portillo, Michael
Prescott, John
Quin, Joyce
Scarman, Lord
• A full list of the privy council members can be read at the Privy Council Office Secretariat.
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