They have put up with policy reversals on education, health, law and order, tax, immigration, the constitution and much else, but now Conservative associations have been asked to make the ultimate sacrifice. New procedures for the nomination of parliamentary candidates will outlaw the time-honoured “sherry party” stage of proceedings.
In theory, this involves a relaxing drink. In practice it is a subtle and sophisticated device by which a list of six to ten aspiring MPs is whittled down to those three or four who are placed before a final meeting of the members.
This reversal may seem like the triumph of modernisation. It might not be. Sherry has staged a comeback of late. It is positively cool in certain circles. Discovering whether a would-be parliamentarian can tell their manzanilla from their oloroso has virtues. The manner in which the glass itself is held reveals much about a character. Without it, disasters could occur such as choosing a chap who did not touch the stuff and just slurped Diet Coke endlessly.
Besides which, sherry contains vital political clues for astute party activists. Like Tories themselves, it arrives in three basic types. There is palma, or very dry, which might be considered a shade retro in a post-Thatcher, Cameronian era. Then raya, full and rich, which is more Notting Hill set really. Between the two lies palo cortado, an intermediate variety probably picked by shamelessly careerist hacks whose loyalty to any leader or set of policies should not be taken as established. As for those who favour jerez dulce (sweet, and especially, cream sherry), the kindest course of action might be to hint that they would be more comfortable standing in Liberal Democrat colours.