They nodded as Theresa spoke – like gourmets tasting ripe Brie
ONE of the more peculiar events in British electioneering occurred yesterday morning at a Hindu community hall in north London. In a soulless room, Theresa May posed for photographs and a few soundbites with 80 Conservative candidates from south-east England.
She said ‘strong and stable’ a few times and announced that she wanted 65 per cent of the vote. no civilians were present.
This was risk-free territory, open only to politicians, reporters, spin doctors, bodyguards. Shortly after the event, there was little evidence it had ever happened. It was like one of those spy films – ‘The Ipcress File’? – in which an interrogation suite makes the victim feel he is abroad when he is in fact in humdrum London.
He returns there later and all trace of the interrogation suite has disappeared. Yesterday’s setting was the Dhamecha Lohana Community Centre, hidden among industrial units and residential back-streets in Harrow. The only hint of its usual function (as a venue for Hindu wedding receptions) was snake-shaped chandeliers. These remained unlit.
A small, square political stage had been created in the middle of a large and drab room. Around that square, 80 seats had been placed in two rows. These were for the Tory candidates, or ‘Theresa May’s Team’ as placards put it. Most of the men in dark suits had been placed on the two sides of the square which would be out of TV shot.
Long before Mrs May’s arrival the candidates were in their seats, sitting obediently. Among them: Michael Gove, Commons leader David Lidington, former northern Ireland Secretary Theresa Villiers (the forgotten Theresa, but please don’t remind her) and Pensions Secretary Damian Green.
A row directly behind Mrs May contained ten women, one Asian man and one white man. Elsewhere, Treasury Minister David Gauke had plainly been out in the sun over the weekend. His nose and cheeks were sunburnt, a sharp line marking where his sunglasses had started. He resembled a block of neapolitan ice-cream.
Before Mrs May’s arrival, the candidates sat in near- silence. The moment the PM entered, they leapt to their feet and started clapping in a frenzy.
Sir Patrick McLoughlin, Tory party chairman, must have drawn blood, he clapped so hard. Sir Patrick, no orator, now made a wooden speech. It echoed round the empty room.
Miss Villiers, 49, grinned, troublingly. A smirk? Or raging indigestion? Sir Patrick shook his two fists simultaneously and said ‘coalition of chaos’ and a few other cliches before he handed over to Mrs May. She proceeded to give a brief, unsurprising speech in which she kept talking of ‘me and my team’. ‘We have a strong team,’ she said, ‘the team to do the job.’
The candidates nodded like gourmets tasting ripe Brie. ‘The team that will deliver,’ said Mrs May. The candidates ground their jaws with pride. Behind her sat Bob Blackman, candidate for Harrow East, as chuffed as Fred Flintstone watching Pebbles train her pet dinosaur.
ANOTHER candidate looked a little like ruby from Bake- Off. Mark Field from Westminster almost nodded his head off. Miss Villiers was still gleaming her disconcerting smile. My 14-year-old daughter stares like that when she has been at the Amontillado bottle.
Five questions were admitted from approved journalists (plus an unplanned from Sky news, which the May campaign is said to dislike). Hearing mention of France’s new President, Mrs May declared that she needed the same sort of majority Emmanuel Macron had just won. But ‘take nothing for granted’, she said. The Conservative messages had to be taken out on the streets of Britain.
‘And when I say take them out on the streets,’ she said furiously, ‘I mean take them out on the streets. no stone unturned. no street unwalked down. no door unknocked on.’ Victoria Borwick, candidate for Kensington, turned beaming to her neighbour with an ‘isn’t she MAH-VELLOUS?’ face.
The visitation was over. Having knocked on not a single door, Mrs May sped away in a bomb-proof motorcade, tyres squealing.