May’s opponents are the mad and the bad

I first met Theresa May, or met her properly, way back in the last century. I’d been invited to speak at a constituency dinner for Maidenhead Conservatives on a Saturday night, and sat at her table. She was with her husband, Philip; I remember only my suspicion that he didn’t desperately want to be there. Of her I remember the pallor, and a certain shyness; but the couple were pleasant and welcoming to me, and as I’m not one to pump people for political news and gossip, and she isn’t one to volunteer such things, this was not the sort of evening that would have prompted an entry in the diary I don’t anyway keep. I suspect hundreds who’ve dined with Mrs May, asked to recall the occasion, would struggle — as I do here — to say much more.

The second occasion was very different, and a couple of years ago.