News From The Big Tent
Ambitious Young Berks A-Go-Go
As the Conference meets in Bournemouth, Westmonster is keenly conscious of the fact that some of the conversations she has overheard contain sentiments that probably weren't at the forefront of the movement's founding fathers one hundred years ago.
Maybe it's due to old age and the consequent grumpiness, but your correspondent has been getting a bit "in my day" on everybody's ass. The younger generation seem more committed to air-kissing than anything else, and even the most minor politicians' bottoms are well moisturised after a full twenty-four hours of being licked by aspiring young berks.
To illustrate, the blonde bint whose loud honking has been doing the Westmonster hangover no good at all this morning:
"...OH MY GOD Stephen! How ARE you? Still working for David?" Thus attacked, her unfortunate prey admits he isn't, no. "Oh. OH MY GOD there's John!" and off she totters.
And so on for about five minutes until she found someone important enough to stick her cleavage out at.
Then there is the horror of the gaggle of twelve-year-olds who have just descended on the next table, who despite an array of bumfluff, facial warts and acne are loudly declaiming that it is their job to win the next election for "Gordon."
Finally this, heard shrilly wailing at every Party operative in sight earlier today.
But I simply MUST have WiFi, I MUST, darling!
And that, of course, was your very own action news reporter.
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