Back from two weeks’ paternity leave and struggling through the morning papers I alighted on this gem (incidentally by Robert Shrimsley of the FT). “In the wake of Barack Obama’s win, opposition politicians across the world are honing their campaigns. The scene: 2010. David Cameron’s election night rally. Thousands gather on the lawn of Hatfield House, knee-deep in discarded champagne bottles, awaiting confirmation of victory. Cameron rises to address the gathering: “My friends, a few moments ago I received a phone call from Prime Minister Brown. At least I think it was him; it was rather short and punctuated by someone swearing in a Scottish accent. It’s been a long time but tonight change has come to Britain. Today marks the end of a long journey - and, kids, you’ve earned that wolfhound. As I look at this victory I think of the people like me - like us - despised, dispossessed, reviled, sneered at by people who didn’t go to a good school; who don’t know how to hold a fork. We were mocked by Harry Enfield ( growls of anger and shouts of “String ‘im up” ) and forced to pretend to like beer. There are people in this crowd who believed we would never again see this country elect a chap who knew which way to pass the port. We have touched the arc of history, we have driven the Daimler of destiny. Our campaign was not hatched in a backroom in Westminster. It began in the backyards of Boodles, the living rooms of Lord Ashcroft, the roof terrace at Petronella Wyatt’s. But today our voices can be heard - not just in Notting Hill but as far away as Kensal Rise. I recall our forefathers; men who couldn’t even vote - albeit because they were in the House of Lords - men denied the basic human right of walking to the polling station and voting for their MP; men who had to get their valet to do it for them. For too long, we were looked down upon by a nation obsessed with Wags, watching Big Brother( groans from crowd ); reading Jordan’s autobiography and drinking Bacardi Breezers ( cries of “Shame” ). And today we can wear our Bullingdon tailcoats with pride ( shouts of “Hear, hear” ); we can dunk oiks in the fountains and deflower maidservants - or footmen if that’s the way you swing(shouts of “Hurrah”) . We can stand tall and speak plummy. But tonight, after years of oppression, the upper class has spoken out ( loud cheers and champagne bottles hurled ). Today I saw a 106-year-old woman - lumme, she was wrinkled. But she saw this country defeat the general strike - yes we can. She saw us bash the Hun, not once but twice (thrice if you count Wembley) - yes we bally well can. She saw us roll back the frontiers of the state then roll them forward again - yes we bally well can. She saw us back the masses against the classes and now back the classes once again. Gawd bless you all. Floreat Etona. Bottoms up.”
November 6, 2008…”men who couldn’t even vote - albeit because they were in the House of Lords”…
Friday, 7 November 2008
Posts
