Oh, for summertime. For Alan Clark, one July promotion a decade ago brought its own most special celebration: “I always said I’d open a bottle of 1916 Latour when I got to MoD [Ministry of Defence], so we split that as an aperitif,” he recalled. In Clark’s genuinely magnificent Diaries, an elegantly constructed legend of fine wines, marathon dinners, fast cars and foreign extravaganzas, it was always, seemingly, midsummer. The days were hot, hushed, almost hypnotic; the shadows inviting.
Strikingly little of this remains. From the Tories’ perspective, the ending of those days has crushed more than the dreams of political diary addicts. William Hague’s managerialism is running the twin risks of leaving voters and potentially election-winning superstar recruits dangerously unmoved. He should work to restore at least some former pleasures, for while few would support unmitigated hedonism amid parliamentary law-making, Tory life needs to be fun again. His apparent unwillingness – an outlandish Euro victory notwithstanding – to loosen the reins and cheer the troops is, frankly, curious.
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