I suppose it is not really surprising that I am a fan of the shiny new Tory party. I had thought that people like me were no longer really welcome in politics, and then suddenly, from nowhere, the ranks of Her Majesty’s Opposition are stormed by a herd of chaps of about my age, who talk like me and went to the same sorts of schools as me, have a few quid and like to splash it around, know how to party, fudge the drugs issue, smile a lot and think that’s the same thing as being a nice person, and are not the least bit interested in politics. Le Tory Party, c’est moi!
This remoulding of the Conservatives in my own image reached its preposterous apogee the other night when, as I strolled into the little drinks party to launch the annual conference of the Soil Association (occasionally controversial, sometimes kooky, but by and large sainted regulators of all things organic in this country), I noticed that I was being followed in by David Cameron.
“Now look here, steady on, old stick!” I was about to say (one must greet these people in language they understand), “Imitation may well be the sincerest form of hey diddle diddle and all that jazz, but this shadowing of my every move is getting to be something of a rum do!”
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It’s a sprawling room of black and cream paintwork, dark wood and blackboards, like many a gastropub, with familiar dishes – smoked mackerel terrine, Caesar salad, quiche, risotto with smoked salmon, pasta with broccoli and stilton – priced slightly higher than average, reflecting the fact that safeguarding the future of the food supply will not be absolutely free of charge.
Best value was the lone special, a cottage pie that came with a soft drink at £7.50 – the point being that one always has to sacrifice something, and if you are going to eat well, cheaply and responsibly, then forgoing the multiple choice of most modern menus is not the end of the world.