I am registered as a voter in Ealing-Southall and have a problem. Though a member of the party, I could not vote Conservative. The candidate put up by ‘David Cameron’s Conservatives’ had been a Conservative for a matter of hours and been parachuted in over any number of dedicated, and equally ethnic, party workers. I might have reined in my objections if it hadn’t been for the earlier elevation of Sayeeda Warsi to the shadow Cabinet and the Lords. After a recent run-in with her on the BBC’s Question Time she attacked me for referring to Islamic terrorists. I thought she only minded me identifying terrorists with Islam, but — like the new Home Secretary — it turned out she minded me identifying terrorists with terrorism. And she refused, on air, to condemn the killing of our troops in Iraq. That was enough to drive me from the fold, and emails from our troops since the programme reinforce my feelings. I couldn’t abstain, though I didn’t much like the other candidates. I decided I must vote on a point of principle, and found myself ticking the box for Labour — perhaps the only voter to go over to Labour because of the Iraq war.
In the Hamptons for the weekend with friends. I arrive on Saturday in time for a dinner dominated by splendid expat hacks. We sup beers by the jetty, eat by candlelight, discuss the Black trial and exchange great Scoop-like stories of foreign ventures. Terrific stuff, but I begin to gaze longingly at a hammock by the waterside. Their ten o’clock is my small hours, and after sinking further and further in my chair I leave a dinner party early for (I think) the first time.
Monday is my birthday.
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