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April isn’t the cruellest month. It`s September. Back to school, university, new job, or, in our case, back to the Fun Factory, holiday over, duty beginning. Fortunately it`s an exciting prospect: election eight months away: the end of the Blair hegemony: both oppositions becalmed: Kilroy Silk rampant: Europe stalled. This is going to be fun.
Tuesday 7 September
Last year the September session was a waste of time. Nothing to do. No one to do it. This year they’ve crammed in too much and most of it daft. Like today`s Companies Bill: government`s latest gift to the big Four Bean Counters who`ve done so well out of this government they really should affiliate. “Chuck it Smith” I suggest but the DTI is determined to go on showering gifts on the Fat Four and the Tories and Libs jealously offer even more: would they like a total absolution from any blame anywhere?
Wednesday 8 September
Fox hunting. It’s barmy passing a measure with hysterical lunatics on each side just before an election. Instead of postponing it, Tony weakly chucks it to the backbenchers like a piece of red meat, then doesn’t even have the guts to vote on it.
Saturday 11 September
In North East Lincolnshire the Libs are allowed to lead the Lib/Con coalition, provided they implement Tory Policies. So they’re closing the public lavatories in Peethorpes, where coach parties will be greeted with signs saying “Nearest Toilets: Mablethorpe”, and the community libraries in Grimsby, acts of vandalism condoned by the ODPM which turns me into an agitator speaking to mass meetings of nursery nurses, then packed library meetings. God Bless the Liberals. They’ll prostitute any principle for power.
Thursday 16 September
I have tried to keep my approaching seventieth birthday a secret from Grimsby in case the electorate kick my zimmer frame from under. Look North gets to hear and presents me with a pensioner`s pass, so I put a bold front on it, proclaim my virility, tell them I need more time to learn the job, and announce that when my brain begins to fail I`ll go back into television.
Saturday 18 and Sunday 19
Weekend of birthday celebrations. Old friends (both of them) gather on the Saturday. Fortunately most are dead so catering is cheap. On the Sunday six grandchildren and two pregnant daughters demonstrate their contempt for age, particularly mine. Any more grandchildren and I`ll be able to form a mass political party, though they`ll not accept me as leader.
Sunday 26 September
Down to Brighton, a place I hate more each time I go. Conference begins with the defeat of John Prescott`s insane policy of wasting millions to give away billions of council housing. My desperate attempts to speak are, of course, totally ignored (I should have disguised myself). Instead, a series of stooges portray privatisation as pure socialism and a chance to have every home done up by Lawrence Llewlyn Bowen.
Overwhelmingly defeated, John blusters sulkily that the motion is a)unnecessary, b)horrendously expensive, c) already policy, d) totally impracticable. Serves him right for dividing the party, enfeebling councils and alienating the estates.
Monday 28 September
The only accommodation we`ve been able to find is eight miles out in Kingston in a fluffy holiday flatlet. I hate the fat, contented, twee, complacent, comfortable, South. Particularly because a taxi takes one and a half hours to find me to go in
Wednesday 29 September
This has been the best Conference in years. Low key leadership speeches (Brown`s the best) and a rank and file taking back power on such issues as council housing, re-nationalisation of rail and an elected second chamber. Top down leadership dominance is now being balanced by dissent bubbling up. But not on the fringe where meetings are now sponsored. Sponsors want ministers not trouble. So it`s all sanitised. MPs are there (though not many of us) not now to be abused but to visit the stalls to give those who`ve paid so much the impression that someone important is listening. Exhausted. Go home early.
Thursday 30 September
After a day of listening to voluntary groups complaining that the council has cut all its grants, adjourn to Grimsby`s best restaurant. A call comes in at 8.30. Blair is going into hospital, buying a palace, and staying on forever with two election pledges. No tax increases. No new invasions. This would never have happened if Alistair hadn`t forced him into DIY spinning. He should have bought a housing estate in Trimdon while stock transfer lost. Still at least we hold Hartlepool. Mandy has already reformed the CAP, trade policy and ended poverty in the developing world and he’s not even got there. Hartlepool’s loss is the world’s gain. |
