Climbing The Greasy Pole

Conference Snorker Watch

hotdog.jpgLabour Party Conference is not noted for doing much for the Westmonster rotundity, and 2007 was no exception.

Those delegates who have made it through to this, the final, day are looking decidedly hungover, weary, and in many cases constipated. Those of us who attempted the Conference Challenge - that is, trying not to pay for any food but rather blagging our way into receptions and hoovering up the canapes - by and large gave up yesterday as the freebies have been pretty thin on the ground. Sort it out, Gordon Brown!

Doing a roaring trade, however, is the snorker van outside the Conference centre which specialises in all food British [wipes away a tear, salutes Her Maj, and breaks into an impromptu performance of God Save the Queen] and what sums up our nation's glory more than a huge greasy burger or sausage and heart-attack inducing deep fried chips?

By and large, however, talking one's way into a reception is the way to go, as a bottle of beer will set you back four quid within the ring of steel. There has been some quality blagging this year, including:

  • a colleague of Westmonster's trying to persuade security at the Mirror party that the five of us who were trying to get in on two tickets were involved in some sort of polygamous marriage. Unbelievably, they let us in;
  • another comrade at the same party letting in reprobate MPs through the fire exit;
  • trying to look interested in a public health fringe meeting (free booze) whilst stuffing our cheeks with canapes like hamsters storing food for a long winter;
  • legging it out of the Unite union's exclusive invite-only event (yeah, work that one out, "the brothers" my arse) as Special Branch arrived in advance of Brown's surprise address. Westmonster had no particular desire to spend a night in the slammer.

Well, Conference is over but there a snagger for the road may well be in order...

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