Tories infiltrated by Tories? Now there’s a strange thought
Panic stations at Tory HQ. Following a sharp rise in membership applications, insiders fear that the party is being targeted by entryists. Reportedly, the new applicants are staunch Right-wingers who want lower immigration and a leader who is fully committed to Brexit. If true, there can be only one possible explanation.
The Conservatives are being infiltrated by conservatives.
Concerned by this alarming development, party officials have urged local associations to assess all applications with caution. It is widely believed that many of the applicants are former supporters of Ukip. Having spent the last two general election campaigns imitating the policies, attitudes and rhetoric of Ukip in order to win votes from people who agree with the policies, attitudes and rhetoric of Ukip, senior Conservatives are at a loss to explain why their party has attracted an influx of people who agree with the policies, attitudes and rhetoric of Ukip.
Anna Soubry, Tory MP for Broxtowe, has called for a halt to the party’s recruitment drive. Perhaps, though, there is an alternative solution. Recently it was revealed that, in 2017, the Conservative Party raised twice as much money from bequests as it did from membership fees.
In other words: dead members are much more valuable to the Tory hierarchy than live ones. Much less troublesome, too. They never complain about Mrs May’s Brexit plans, or plot to deselect MPS. All they do is keep quiet and send in their money.
Rumour has it that Tory officials have already been spotted doing the rounds of cemeteries, knocking on the more expensive-looking headstones, and asking: “Excuse me, sir – could I interest you in joining the Conservative Party?”
“Not the end of the world.” That was the phrase Mrs May used this week, when asked about the prospect of leaving the EU without a deal. “Not the end of the world.”
They’re definitely trying to lower our expectations of Brexit, aren’t they? Not just Mrs May. Even politicians on the Leave side. Not so long ago, the talk was of “sunlit meadows” (Boris Johnson), “one of the easiest [deals] in history” (Liam Fox), “no downside… only a considerable upside” (David Davis).
In recent months, however, the promises of wealth and glory have grown somewhat muted. Brexit “isn’t some magic cure”, Nigel Farage has admitted, while Jacob Rees-mogg has suggested that it may take 50 years to reap the full benefits. And now, here we are, being told by the Prime Minister that, whatever else goes wrong, Brexit at least won’t result in the immediate extinction of life on Earth. I mean, I suppose that’s a relief. But it is quite a low bar to clear. I was rather hoping we were going to aim a bit higher.
I look forward to hearing Mrs May’s ever more encouraging pronouncements in the months to come. August 2018: “It wouldn’t be the end of the world.” September 2018: “You know, the end of the world wouldn’t be the end of the world.” October 2018: “I’ve always been clear that the end of the world presents this country with a wide range of new opportunities.”
November 2018: “The British people voted for the end of the world – and we’re going to make a success of it.” December 2018: “If the right honourable gentleman cares to consult our manifesto, he will see that we made a firm commitment to deliver the end of the world.” January 2019: “To prevent the end of the world would be profoundly undemocratic, and could even lead to civil unrest.”
February 2019: “Businesses can be assured that this government will act to minimise any disruption caused by the end of the world.”
March 2019: “After a period of intense debate over the right future for our country, there is a sense that people are coming together and uniting behind our vision for the end of the world.”
April 2019: “In July 2016, on the steps of Downing Street, I made a promise to bring about the end of the world. Having achieved this aim, I believe the time is right for me to step down from frontline politics. I intend to spend my retirement watching cricket, enjoying walking holidays with my husband, and setting off into space in search of a habitable planet.”
I can’t stop reading that battered old dictionary of forgotten words I wrote about last week. It so deserves to be reprinted. A Dictionary of Historical Slang, compiled by Eric Partridge, first published 1937. Surely someone could put out a new edition. I guarantee there’s a market for it.
Who wouldn’t want to learn, for example, that in the 19th century the stomach was colloquially known as the “dumpling-depot”? Or that in the late 17th century, coffee was also known as “ninny-broth”? Or that sexual intercourse was known in the 19th century as “the blanket hornpipe”, and in the 17th as “poop noddy” (sample usage: “I saw them close together at poop-noddy”)? Even less romantically, in the 16th century a synonym for “to make love” was “to play at itch-buttocks”.
The Victorians were particularly imaginative coiners of slang. To them, a tea party was a “crumpet-scramble”. A bull’s roar was a “cow-quake”. A fashionable dresser was said to be “the cheese”. Someone in the throes of mirth, meanwhile, would be asked: “Have you found a giggles-nest?”
By some miracle I managed to pick up this linguistic treasure chest at a village fête for 10p. As far as I can see, Amazon offers only a single secondhand copy – priced at £1,000.
I bet a new edition would sell like mad. If publishers don’t rush one out in time for Christmas, they are – as the Victorians would say – a bunch of fop doodles, quis bies and hornswogglers.