Westminster corridors
The other Day passed me by in his Carriage a Member of the Club, with that pale and wan Complexion which we sometimes see in young People who are fallen into Sorrow and private Anxiety of Mind which antedate Age and Sickness. It is not a few weeks since he was gay and airy both in his Demeanour and his Attire.
I speak, of course, of Mr Norman 'Ruby Lips' St John-Stevas who is most concerned about a
recent programme out on something known as tele-vision (no, I refer not to the Prime Ministerial broadcast) called Johnny Go Home.' The self-styled Bishop of Chelmsford, as 'Ruby Lips' likes to be known, has great support on the Tory benches in his concern.
A certain Mr Norman Fowler (is it not strange how they all are called Norman) from Sutton Coldfield, who has risen (for no obviously discernible reason) from being the home affairs reporter (writing about affairs in the home) of a totally obscure national newspaper to the dizzy heights of the Tory front bench where he is shadow spokesman on Mrs 'BUPA' (oops, excuse her) Castle.
This Mr Fowler has asked Mrs Castle to look into the deplorable state of affairs portrayed in the aforementioned TV programme, with special reference to goings on at Euston Station.
This is a sly and mean ploy of • a notably mean and sly shadow spokesman. For his concern is not about the plight of boys at Euston Station (whatever you can say about Mr Fowler, and you can say a great deal, you cannot accuse him of that) but about the antics of Labour Members of the Club on their journeys to and from their Constituencies in the North.
Most (not all) Tories have their carriages and footmen. 'Ruby Lips' actually has two. But the poor deprived Ruffians (with some notable exceptions who sport mechanical horse carriages manufactured behind the Iron Curtain) have to travel by steam train. As they all live in the North of the Land, they all embark at Euston. See?
Mr Fowler's intention is to show (with the aid of the closed circuit TV in the concourse of Euston) that these Ruffians mount (if they will excuse the expression) the Inter-City Sleeper with ladies who are not their wives. I, for my part, have actually seen them dismount with ladies who are not their wives; but that is by the by.
On the principle that disunity in the House will produce disunity at the Club, Mr Fowler. and his colleagues thus hope to ensure a Tory victory at the next election. They could well be succeeding, for the polls indicate that the Tory star (presumably Mr Edward Heath, a meteor) is in the ascendant.
This mention of the North brings to my mind a terrible injustice done to me. The Leader of the Ruffian Party (one Mr Ron "I can't help the way I speak" Hayward, about whom I have had occasion to write before) has caused me to abandon my plans for an autumn holiday in Blackpool. As you know, covering (as the Editor .of this journal whimsically calls it) the Red Army's October Spectacular. This has always been a splendid occasion, with Mr Eric Heffer performing and Mr Michael moving a dainty Foot. I was there one year when Mr Wedgwood Benn went drilling for oil with his Tonka-Toy-Heavy-Duty-Rigerama in the bath. This, unfortunately, happened to be above the oil rig (if he will pardon the phrase) of Mr Harold Wilson, then Leader of Her Majesty's Opposition.
The consequences were disastrous, for Mr Wilson was even at that very moment in conference, dictating, as the saying goes, in the bath. The sight of Mr Benn coming through the ceiling was too much for some (who in those days had not yet become Duchesses) who fainted in the arms of the ever faithful (not to say ever present) Haines.
But I digress. Mr Hayward has deprived me of the Blackpool sun because I am not a member of the National Union of Journalists. This is a technicality and a feeble device designed to stifle the free press.
His directive is that only accredited (sic) members of a union may attend, which unfairly also rules out Mr Robin Day, of Proud Fatherhood, and Mr Peter Jay, of the Thunderer. Readers, I am sure, will agree that it is grossly unjust that I should be barred from the Ruffian Annual Conference in this way.
Accordingly, I invite you to write to Mr Hayward (care of Transport House, Smith Square, London) protesting at this wicked victimisation. Alternatively, you could send donations directly to me. Funds permitting, there are some jolly races to be watched at Deauville that week.
Tom Puzzle
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