Diary: Nick Clegg

Nick Clegg opens up his diary

Waiting in the Scottish sunshine to meet the Pope, my eye is drawn up Arthur’s Seat. I feel a sudden, strong desire to climb it. A long walk is overdue, especially after a night on the ‘sleeper train’ — surely one of the crueller oxymorons in the English language. Long walks are my indulgence. But of course I wait dutifully in line. His Holiness is a sincere, softly spoken and modest man. He also wears very red shoes. Redder, certainly, than any in Miriam’s wardrobe. It is one of those things you only notice when you are in close proximity to him.

To Liverpool, for the Liberal Democrats’ party conference. I often criticise the tribalism of party politics. But I admit that being surrounded by friends of old, colleagues from former political battles, is like going home. So tribalism is not all bad. I am not as nervous about the main speech as in previous years, perhaps because I feel certain of my message.