On the same day (17th
May) that Wharton came top in the private member’s Bill ballot, thus landing the
job of fronting the party’s mildly Eurosceptic, anti-UKIP spoiler, a metropolitan
Tory insider, said to be part of prime minister David Cameron’s social circle,
was overheard describing local association activists as ‘mad, swivel-eyed
loons.’ The latest fracas at Tory HQ sounds like a mash-up of a couple of scenes from Stanley Kubrick's Clockwork Orange (1971) in which (1) a giant, model penis is used for sexual violation; and (2) Alex and his droogs start fighting among
themselves.
There was me and my three droogs, that is Dave, Georgie and
Dim, and we sat in the Metrovia Milkbar trying to make up our rassodocks what
to do about Europe. Dim, also known as Jim Whart, announces he’s up for a bit of
the old in-out, in-out referendum on EU membership. Better to resolve the situation,
he says. Release the pent-up frustration among grassroots activists so that
afterwards we can focus on that which ordinary malchick- and devotchka-voters
are worrying about all the time, namely ‘the cost of living’.
When he used that
antiquated phrase – viddy well, oh my brothers, ‘the cost of living’ was last
spoken of before there were even videos – the bile in me started to rise. I
thought I could hear the blissful music of dear old Ludwig Van urging me to
visit some actual ultra-violet upon Dim and his ilk; upon all the mad, swivel-eyed
loons who populate the party with their outdated, provincial customs and
embarrassing clothes.
I looked across the table at Dim-Jim: still in his twenties and
already the first signs of the-comb-over-to-come; veteran of the Officer Training
Corps at Durham University where he studied law – making him the conservative
conservatives’ conservative. Why, oh my metrosexual
brothers, is the party stuffed with such Dim antediluvians, dinosaurs who would
stamp the life out of our ultra-modern, frictionless Westminster Village with their flat
feet encased in socks and sandals? Watching his pudgy round face – surely the
face of a boy who’s been carrying a briefcase since his first day at secondary
school – I thought of the giant, model penis we had nicked from an artist's house earlier that night, and I couldn't stop thinking of ramming it right into
him.
You see how dangerous and damaging they are? The presence of these awful
people prompts frenzies of internal violence and turns the Conservative Party into
a re-make of Kubrick's destructive masterpiece.
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