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Dancing to the party tune
Published 03 July 2008
From GQ Man to knights of the shire, Tories are happy to be seen sipping champagne
Tories are socialising, hanging out together, going to parties and having "away weekends" in Buckinghamshire. Not scared to be snapped with a glass of champagne, they have stopped skulking and are getting imaginative with colour. Last Monday night, a week of balmy summer evenings kicked off with the Conservative Summer Party.
The venue was the Roundhouse, a trendy concert venue in Camden, which is probably about three miles north of where this lot usually hang out. On arrival, guests were greeted by a throng of photographers and a gigantic billboard that advertised forthcoming acts called "Son of Dave", "Soil and Pimp" and "Mindless Self-Indulgence".
As a party site, it was much smarter than the usual soulless hotel basements with swirly carpets where these events are so often held. The Roundhouse's website says that it is "a space dedicated to nurturing creative young talent", and what a lot of creative talent there was.
The opportunity to dress up was not lost on the women, who didn't just "scrub up well" but were truly gorgeous. Businessmen who were thinking of turning or were born-again Tories stared at these creatures, fantasising that every woman might look like that in Dave's Britain. A few "make a point" tie wearers, overwhelmed by the pretty girls and pretty canapés, gave in early and stuffed their jacquard silk ties into their pockets.
It was a technicolour affair, with a turquoise backdrop and a slightly Wizard of Oz theme, with wacky oversized flower arrangements in orange, lime and shocking pink. The guest host Dylan Jones, editor of GQ, announced that the following day the flowers would be taken to a local hospital, as dozens of women who had already decided which blooms they were going nab at the end of the evening tried not to look appalled.
There was a subtle groan when the chairman of the 1922 Committee, Sir Michael Spicer, introduced the event's organiser, Caroline Armstrong-Jones, to say a few words. Spicer's speech had already been rather lengthy.
Speaking for only three minutes, Caroline said that her Down's syndrome child had been the inspiration behind her involvement in the evening. Her speech was eloquent, to the point and not sentimental; she believed in Cameron's understanding of children with special needs. The hall silent ly took it all in and Mrs Armstrong-Jones deservedly got the biggest cheer of the evening.
But the best guest by far was the utterly charming Peter Stringfellow (long before all the lovelies turned up, during the wilderness years, it was the nightclub owner who helped bank roll these events). With no explanation, Stringfellow was wearing a white jacket with a hand-painted weasel draped over the shoulder and lapel.
The entertainment was ambitious: the Brian Rogers Dancers, a bunch of smilers possessing faces you would never tire of smacking, performed a Grease mega-mix medley. Exhausting to watch, these grown adults leapt around, announcing they were "born to hand-jive, baby". Thankfully, they were followed by a crowd-pleasing Rat Pack tribute and Signature, the bhangra dance duo who im personate Michael Jackson and were finalists on the television show Britain's Got Talent.
Cameron's speech was laid-back and he was comfortable on stage. He spoke with passion, he mentioned Nicolas Sarkozy for a bit of political star-cred, he stressed "no complacency and no smugness", and he delivered a few gags. The only small tumbleweed moment was a long joke involving Gordon Brown, Mickey Mouse and a watch. Like the pro he is, Cameron sensed the low point and swiftly mentioned Boris. Phew. Whenever the London mayor's name was uttered, the place went berserk. A Michael Winner look alike at one of the back tables chucked his panama in the air out of sheer joy.
Timing is often a problem during these evenings. MPs had to leave to vote, supper was not served until after nine o'clock, and the auction was, as always, too long. Like bored toddlers, diners got fidgety. It was a Monday evening, after all, and even though it was a fund raiser, there are only so many people who are going to bid for a "Lifetime oppor tunity with gorillas in Gabon" or the chance to have Lord Heseltine show them his parrots.
The advertised "dancing" didn't happen, as people started to leave after midnight. But maybe next time.
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