DIARY OF A NOTTING HILL NOBODY
MONDAY Forty-one per cent! Would be nice to celebrate, but of course we know this is out of the question. Mr Maude is in bad enough mood already, since his attempt at optimism went so badly wrong at Spring Conference. He’d been practising sounding ‘noncommittally cheerful’ all week with our Wellbeing Guru, Sherwood. Before he went on they were backstage together blowing out their cheeks and shaking their limbs loose, the Frankster repeating, ‘I really believe we can win!’ and doing his special tantric smiling exercises. But when it came to the optimistic bit of his speech he just froze, and couldn’t get the words out. Ended up looking as if had been cryogenically frozen. Sherwood was weeping even more openly than usual. As he pointed out, it was a complete waste of a pink flower backdrop. Apart from that, a great conference. Everyone got horribly drunk on Saturday night. I’m told I marched down Nottingham High Street wearing a St Patrick’s Day hat (v inclusive). Nigel says I don’t have to accept every drink Jed offers me, but I don’t think this can be right. Surely is better to risk dying of alcohol poisoning than offend Director of Strategy and holder of key to my future, and, for that matter, future of party and whole country!? Mummy agrees. Says I should go with my instincts on these matters and drink up. Chin chin!
TUESDAY
Amazed to see the Battle of Dave’s Hair still raging. This has surpassed all our expectations and just goes to show that you should never underestimate the power of a distraction briefing. Who would have thought last week when we were forced to act to take the pressure off green taxes that the papers would still be full of ‘Parting-gate’ four days later? But with skilful management of news and Dave’s barnet we have achieved it. Mind you, I think even Dave was getting bit fed up when Jed told him we had prepared a ‘Third Way’. I mean, it’s one thing to comb it right, then left, but he had a terrible job getting it to slick straight down the centre again. It’s been almost a year since it was swept back Hammer House of Horror-style and it wouldn’t play ball without gel. The problem now is — where next? This is always the dilemma in politics when a strategy has worked particularly well. You have to think of your next move. Jed has asked for suggestions before the end of the week for the ‘Hair to Blair’.
WEDNESDAY V excited about our doctrine of ‘Social Action’. Wondering whether can get into the arena of combating poverty and exclusion myself by pioneering a little scheme in Wibberley. I understand that the Busy Bees Teashop needs its walls repainting due to an excess of sticky fingers. Surely the Modern Conservative Party must answer the call! Ask not what your teashop can do for you!
Also, must get myself signed up to our Africa trip. It’s £800 but, if you ask me, tremendous value for money, and therefore true to core Tory principles. You get to save Rwanda and sleep in a mudhut with dishy Mr Mitchell! Am prepared to fight Poppy for this one in traditional Tory-girl style — Miu Miu handbags at dawn in the hub.
THURSDAY Submitted my forward-planning ‘Emergency Distraction’ suggestion. V clever, v left-field — said we should think up a stunt that is not hair-orientated, e.g., Dave visiting the dentist, or Dave queuing up at his local NHS minor injuries drop-in centre for emergency chiropody, or Dave chatting to a homeopath, etc.
But in the end Poppy won the day with her rather boring proposal for Sam to have Victoria Beckham-style hair extensions next time we’re in trouble. So Old Politics. Yawn!
Previous page
