London elections

The reluctant Fandidate

in. Scarlet e, damn you — smile!" said one of my nheighbours about a month ago. And I seem to aye been doing just that ever since. Nit was Michael Storey, brother of v'aYwright David, who first suggested that I'd Make. a 'good candidate'. Since I'd spent the frevious half-hour explaining why I'd make a w°usY one it occurred to me that the man Ilt)se plonk I was drinking in large quantities Must be mad. Quite mad. ,,,1\lot a hope," I said. And meant it. Grclat ut Michael is nothing if he's not one of the . e Persuaders. He organised me into inval„"hg a few of my neighbours to come round end discuss the possibilities of finding three :.hdidates to fight the local election. Then,

Man, he took off for Washington.

NOW let it be said immediately that my n celghbours are very nice people. But when It 0°111es to arm-twisting they leave Kung. Fu Ut‘ip the cold.

s _,Irou'd make a very good candidate, lain," aid one lady with a sweet but menacing

smile. I thought she was mad, too.

But then she put the whole thing into perspective.

"And Panda would make a very good running-mate."

Panda being a three-year-old Pyrenean with the looks of the offspring that Ant An and Chi-Chi should have produced but never did, I began to get the picture. I was going to have to fight the election Ian the strength of Panda's popularity in the district.

And since there were no other willing victims, do it alone. Plonk or no plonk, it was a sobering thought.

Our campaign slogan — A Liberal for Priory (ALP) — emerged from my bath the following morning. Within forty-eight hours I had been • adopted ('after prolonged questioning' according to the minutes of the Hampstead Liberals), and before the end of the week we had distributed 500 duplicated leaflets asking for help and support.

That was when we first started to say 'Please'. It has always seemed to me the height of arrogance for any candidate to go round saying 'Vote Me' so we are going round saying 'Please Vote Me'. It is amazing the amount of favourable comment that single word has attracted. And more to the point, the number of offers of help and support that flowed in as a result.

We had started off as a 'tiny nucleus of six or seven — all of us inexperienced and politically naive. Three weeks and much plonk later we had more than a hundred people actively working for us. I had adjusted to a diet of potato crisps and Panda was in his exhibitionistic element: he, at least, was having a ball.

We had also acquired an organiser who was far from politically naive. Before David Jackson appeared on the scene we were just a bunch of enthusiastic amateurs muddling along on the strength of a great deal of goodwill and not much nous. David put us to work.

Never having been much of an Organisation Man myself — all our previous political know-how had been gleaned from a friendly Conservative down the.road — I found this a little shattering. But one grows to like being shattered. Where only a week before I had been standing in the street — with Panda, of course — stopping passers-by and asking them to sign my nomination papers, I was now relieved of envelope-stuffing and deliveries and told to get out and canvass. That was an education in itself. People are interested in local issues. People do object to filthy streets and dangerous roads. People actually want to know what's going on in Council . . .

It was hard work (and it's still hard work) but gradually our team developed a growing confidence. Support seemed to be snowballing. Posters bought from Central Office but neatly amended to 'Please Vote Scarlet — Liberal' went up in front-window after frontwindow. My telephone — we'd put the number on every bit of paper we'd sent out — never stopped ringing. I began to doubt there was anyone in Priory without a problem. My problem was potato crisps and plonk. I couldn't get enough of either. Panda's appetite — always large — grew larger as his weight grew less. His thirst began to match mine. My weight-loss began to match his. But there comes a moment when sheer enthusiasm takes control. That moment came for me when I heard on the political grapevine — which is as efficient as that of the Underworld but rather more malicious — that we'd got our opponents worried. It's amazing how enervating one's opponents' worries can be.

"Are you going to win?" an ex-councillor (Lab) asked me the other day.

"Of course I am," said I.

"Bad luck," he replied. "You'll live to regret it."