Why God Made the Tory Party

What Ho Proles!

I love being a Tory! What’s more, I love declaring how much I love being a Tory. You never hear any of the other mobs saying the same of being Labour activists or (may the good Lord bless their innocent souls) bunting stringers for the Liberal Democrats. The thing with being a Tory is that it’s the only political affiliation where you can wear good quality cufflinks and know your electorate won’t try to pinch them the first day on the hustings. Being a Tory says so much about the man as well as the men who voted him into power, don’t you think?

Take today, for example. I had quite the jolly time going around the village and reminding people who I am, what I stand for, and how much I’ll put up their rents should I not get in at the next bean count for Westminster. And in the whole, people seemed to appreciate me. They nodded at all my jokes, deferentially tipped their hats when I asked them a question, and stood quaking in their boots as I trampled their little cottage gardens. They instinctively know that with a Tory in control, they’re better off in their beds at night. What I don’t understand is why every house had strings of garlic wrapped around every door and window. I must ask My Man to investigate.

In the whole, though, it was a very pleasant morning. This afternoon, I’m putting some finishing touches to a monograph I’ve been working on detailing the history of the Murgatroid family. If updates are late, you can blame my Uncle Cyril and his twenty-seven bastard progeny.

Salut!