Daft Old Duffer returns with his weekly column. As ever, he’s got his own view, which may not coincide with those of VB. It’s in his own words. If you choose to contribute (and we think he’d like that), let’s keep this as a work of fiction, excluding any real names – Ed
I know that quite a lot of you are writers – either amateur or professional. So I’m asking for a little help.
I’m thinking of writing a novel, a work of pure fiction. It will be about a young man who develops the ambition to emulate William Hague and his rise from unknown grammar school boy to leader of the Conservative Party. The idea is to use this skeleton upon which to hang an insight into how the Conservative – and for that matter any other party – functions.
So far however, I have no more than the bare bones of a plot. I don’t even know at this stage whether it’s worth pursuing. So your insight will prove invaluable, both to keep me on the right track and to flesh out the story.
Here goes then
Our hero – no name yet – conceives an admiration for William Hague and the way in which he, by impressing Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher with his fiery Conference speech, came to the attention of the Party Lords and, despite being a rank outsider with no family connections and not even a public school education, rose to become, albeit for a short while, leader of the party.
Anything he can do I can do better
The blunt idea in our hero’s mind is that if little Hague can do it, so can he.
Making his way from the small rural community where he was raised to London, he, in some way I’ve yet to devise, inserts himself into the lower fringes of the Party.
He becomes, along with many others, a trainee. Goes along on various missions and attends conferences. Always, of course, as no more than a gofer, an organiser of drinks, morning coffee, replacement pens. He checks that the conference centre loos are suitable for Grandees and that servants know how important the people are they have the privilege of serving.
Possibly a possible
He is in short, an unpaid helper. A minion.
But he is learning the ropes, seeing how things are done. He listens into the talk of the Important Ones, whether drunk or sober, giggly or deadly serious and he gets to read through conference notes and minutes.
He becomes an insider, someone known to be useful, a possible.
So however, are many others. And the day comes when some are weeded out.
Our Hero is one of these. “You’re not quite what we’re looking for,” he is told. “Sorry and all that old chap.”
What next?
Hero is devastated. “But what am I going to do?” he cries.
“Well I’m sure I don’t know old son. Have you considered local politics? Might be more your style sort of thing. Where do you come from – some Island or other wasn’t it? Why not give that a bash?”
“But I don’t know anybody. Haven’t been back for years!”
“That don’t matter old chap. Letter of recommendation signed by one of our old buffers, that’ll sort you out.”
So Hero returns to the land of his father, where the letter of introduction works. It’s magic. Impressed by Who He Knows and obedient as ever, the local Grandees soon find him a safe seat and quite quickly make him Leader.
Where next?
This is as far as I’ve got to date. There seem to be two possible ways forward.
One, Hero makes such a success of his new role that it isn’t long before he moves on to become the local member of Parliament and eventually Leader of the Party. Just as he had always desired.
Or two – and this seems to me the more plausible – he makes such a hash of everything he is finally forced out of politics altogether and ends his days in some position where he is humble and yet, having found his niche, happy.
Perhaps serving behind the counter in a stationers, or booksellers.
Image: Heavenely Cabin under CC BY 2.0
