The weather had changed suddenly in central London, and so had the colours. Most days, walking down Whitehall from Trafalgar Square to Parliament, people’s coats are navy or charcoal grey. On Tuesday, the sleet was falling onto a sea of jackets the shade of murky green that is only sold outside the M25. They had come to protest changes to inheritance tax that will, depending on whether you believe them or the government, either make no difference to anyone while raising bundles of handy cash, or stop children from inheriting family farms. 

The question of who you believe is the central one. Although farming is often reported to be in crisis, Britain is actually full of people who know how to make a fortune from it. Unfortunately, due to a tragedy of misallocation, all those people live in London and are busy on social media, and so the farming has to be done by people who are apparently too stupid to understand that they’re vastly rich, even when it’s been repeatedly explained to them by their betters.

We had the happy opportunity to watch this process in action as we waited from Parliament’s Environment, Food and Rural Affairs Committee to take evidence from Steve Reed, the Streatham MP who has by some strange misfortune become Secretary of State For Telling Farmers That They’re Wrong.

Reed was stood with his officials when he was approached by David Barton, a 57-year-old cattle farmer from Gloucestershire, who announced that the changes would stop him passing his farm to his son. “Are you sure?” Reed asked. This may yet turn out to be Labour’s election slogan in rural areas. Ministers have been assured by Treasury officials that the tax change is absolutely harmless, and Reed now has the air of a politician who is on the brink of learning an important lesson about the value of those assurances.

Barton was sure, it turned out. Reed tried to offer some suggestions, which he seemed to have picked up off Twitter. Barton should simply give the farm to young Ben now, and then, so long as he lived seven years, “you would pay nothing”. It’s an under-appreciated service of the government that Cabinet ministers are offering advice on how to avoid paying the taxes they’re bringing in. Although this might not be advice on which one should, well, bet the farm.

Barton was explaining why things are a touch more complicated than that when Barry Gardiner, Labour MP for the rural idyll that is Brent West, arrived to save the day. Barton was explaining that, although his farm was valued at £5 million, it made between nothing and £50,000 a year. Gardiner showed the sure judgement that has been characteristic of his political career: “I don’t believe that.”

Gardiner should be sent to go from farm to farm, telling people that they’re lying or wrong

People often wish that politicians would say what they really think, and I can honestly say that, when you witness it, it’s amazing. Gardiner should be sent to go from farm to farm, telling people that they’re lying or wrong. Oddly, Barton didn’t seem completely persuaded, and insisted his numbers were correct. Gardiner considered this, before declaring it “a very inefficient use of capital.” 

Barton looked at him levelly: “That’s farming.” 

Reed, perhaps sensing that the Gardiner magic doesn’t travel to the parts of the country that aren’t on the Underground, tried to rescue things. “I believe you,” he told Barton, in a sad voice. 

Does he, though? Inside the committee, chairman Alistair Carmichael tried to get Reed to discuss his own policy position. It was a painful process, with the minister refusing to engage at all. “£22 billion!” he said. “Liz Truss!” 

“What’s your definition of a small family farm?” asked Carmichael. 

“There’s a lot of figures flying around at the moment,” said Reed, with the air of a man who has recently learned that an acre isn’t the same as a hectare, but can’t remember which is which. Farmers should get tax advice from a professional, he said. Or a Cabinet minister, if they can catch one. 

Carmichael pointed out that, until a month ago, that advice would have been to hold onto the farm until death. Now it was apparently to have given it away seven years ago. Reed’s face was turning an ever deeper shade of pink. 

Where, Carmichael asked, should farmers find the money to pay the tax bills they would now face. “These are people who are very wealthy,” Reed finally replied. In the public benches behind him, a row of men in check shirts, all with the kind of forearms you get from wrestling cattle every day, rolled their eyes. 

The overall impression was of a man who had been sent out to sell a policy that he didn’t understand. The policy had been cooked up in the Treasury, and the Treasury had assured him that it was fine, and now all these people were asking questions that the Treasury hadn’t warned him about. “It might be worth the committee speaking to them directly,” he said, finally, his face now an intense pink. 

Since the general election vast swathes of the countryside are represented by Labour MPs. With Reed and Gardiner in charge of rural financial advice, these poor souls should perhaps be warned that majorities can go down as well as up.