Tuesday, 8 March 2011

Spring Forum and the Fake Tan of Death!

I learned a few things this weekend and no, I'm not talking about Conservative Party polices or No to AV campaign tips.

I will NEVER ever let the boss pick the music for a journey again.I had to sit there for hours as he swerved the car in time to either brass band music, The Bee Gees or Lilly Allen. I drew the line at Lilly f*cking Allen and asked him to pull over in the next layby so I could have a cigarette. As I stood there watching the traffic, the wind ruining my hair, I considered making a break for it. Would the boss have noticed if I'd turned on my heel and run screaming across the road side field? Probably.

The hotel was actually a B&B. More than a few of the rooms had scuffed boot prints against the doors but it had better carpet than Westminster Palace so it’s swings and roundabouts really. 
I accompanied the boss on Friday and Saturday night. I must say there wasn’t much of a vibe. Normally everyone is happy to get together, gossip and speculate but this time it felt flat and forced. Cardiff is great but let's face it boy and girls, it's no Brighton. At last year's Spring Forum I found myself at a house party sharing a bottle of something that tasted like strawberry 20/20 with a chick with a mohican. How I got from the Conservative Friends of Azerbaijan reception to sitting in an empty bath chatting with a girl who had more piecing than I have fingers, I'll never know.

Something I did notice about Spring Forum this year were the Cfers. I just can't tell whether they're getting younger or I'm getting older. Either way, I'm all for political zeal but there's a fine line between determination and desperation.
Ladies: if we want conference to be like a cattle market we would hold it where they film The Only Way is Essex. I swear there were times when senior MPs or indeed the Prime Minister would mingle with the norms and you couldn't hear yourself think over the dreamy sighes, excited giggles or the sound of a push-up bra being adjusted.

Regular readers will point out that I tend to wear inappropriate shoes to work but I do team these with tasteful blouses and pencil skirts. Live the stereotype, you know?

I blame the mixing of G&T, wine and champagne for the horrendous state that befell me Saturday morning. It’s bad enough waking up in a hotel room and forgetting where you are for a few seconds but imagine waking up on a hotel room floor. Thank god for the half decent carpet.

As I tweeted over the weekend, I did on more than one occasion either hear my name being said or was party to a conversation about me. It seems that this little diary has certainly sent tongues wagging! Dear readers please remember, sometimes the fun is in the not knowing. Or in my case, the fun is in other people not knowing. I am in politics after all.

Roll on Manchester I say.

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