One of my favourite childhood memories is of reading about the Profumo scandal in the tabloids, a source of endless delight. There had been nothing like it in my lifetime. So I was thrilled when the House of Lords discussed the affair on Thursday.

The mini-debate was kicked off by Lord Lexden, who in real life is Alistair Cooke, (not to be confused with Alastair Cook, England's cricket captain), a Tory historian.

He wanted publication of all the papers considered by the late Lord Denning in his report on the matter 50 years ago. This would be a service to historians.

Also, "the report has been described as the raciest and most sensational Blue Book ever published".

Peers perked up. Yum, yum! They knew exactly what he was talking about. Soviet spies! Orgies! Gorgeous trollops! Cabinet ministers being sexually serviced by aristocratic women!

At one point, he went too far. The papers would demonstrate corrupt collusion between police and journalists on a scale that would make Lord Leveson's hair stand on end!

At this allegation against the police, their lordships murmured in protest, but their murmurs are never very loud and sounded like a basket full of puppies on the verge of waking up.

Lord Wallace, for the government, said Denning had promised that the evidence to him would never be published. He revealed a typically British compromise.

The papers will not appear – yet – but they have not been destroyed. Some of the people involved are still alive.

Once they are all dead, the matter might be re-considered, by the lord chancellor and the master of the rolls. (Or master of the rolls-in-the-hay, as he might be renamed.)

Lord Armstrong startled his colleagues by saying these sensational papers should not be published in the lifetime of those involved, nor during the lives of their descendants!

Which of course meant at the end of human life on Earth.

As peers made their faint rumbling noise (this one indicated vague puzzlement) he corrected this to "100 years".

Wallace repeated that the papers would be preserved but not published, adding: "Officials have said that there are some sensational personal items in there that would be very embarrassing if they were released." By now we were salivating with excitement.

Someone else tried to nudge the government. Did Denning really have the authority to promise all this secrecy?

Then, amazingly, Andrew Lloyd Webber declared an interest. He is about to produce a new musical about Stephen Ward, the osteopath involved in the affair who was dragged to trial and killed himself.

Many people believe he was the scapegoat for many more famous people.

The long wait, said Lord Lloyd-Webber, could only lead to "unhelpful speculation about who the individuals in the files might be."

And make life more difficult for my librettist, he could have added. Still, at least we can guess at the title: Cads.