4. Black Belts and Purple Stockings

What Ho Proles!

It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the tightest headlock I’ve ever experienced, but it was, by quite a stretch of the Murgatroid neck, one of the most painful. It was also a quite novel means of torture since, in the midst of so much pain, I found myself admiring a pair of attractive knees covered in a warming shade of purple silk stocking. I don’t know how to explain this moment of pained sexual awareness except to say: it felt almost Liberal Democrat.

I’m quite sure that there are some chaps who would be quite taken up by the moment. Some might even call it romance. In that particular place and in those particular circumstances, I could only consider it an inconvenience.

‘Would you please let go, madam,’ I again repeated, trying to squeeze my Tory-in-charge voice through a constricted voice box. It only made me sound a little like Anne Widdecombe.

‘You scheming sod!’ came the reply before the hold lessened for a moment and I tried to stand up. My opponent must have sensed my intention. She whipped her leg around my ankle and threw me across the room.

I landed like a pheasant with a lead shot enema. My ego as bruised as another part of my anatomy less given to the urgings of ambition so I decided that staying still was best policy. I resigned myself to looking at my assailant and pondering the eternal mystery of why the female species has such a violent streak.

Flora Shaw is one of those names that belied the appearance of the physical being. Not much older that a thirty year old, she had the adroit athleticism that really belongs in adverts for naturist holidays. She seemed to bounce with Frisbee fun in her every movement and I believe she’d be a dab hand at ping-pong too. She certainly had the healthy sweat going on and she looked almost Nordic as she wiped her brow before ruffling some life into her inch short hair, blonde if you can imagine that, before she began to straighten out her clothes.

‘Have you finished?’ I asked, wondering if she wanted me on the floor for the final knockout which she had seemed to have forgotten is due any vanquished hero.

‘With you?’ she sneered. ‘There’s not enough fight in you to make me want to bother. I’ve wrestled wet soap that had more spirit.’

‘So everything’s settled then?’

She laughed and dropped into a chair. ‘It depends. Do you still intend to contest the nomination?’

I could see no way of backing down. I had a team in place and the chaps in the club would never forgive me if I fell at such an early yet attractive hurdle. Didn’t she realise that Michael Howard would need men like Yours Truly when he came to form his administration?

‘I can’t wait any longer,’ I explained. ‘History beckons me onward!.’

‘Does it now? And what does History say about me?’

‘I imagine History wouldn’t say very much on account of History having a bit of a bad back and wouldn’t last five minutes with your judo.’

She smiled. ‘Actually it’s jiu-jitsu.’

‘Well it was all black belt quality as far as I’m concerned,’ I replied.

I don’t know what it was but by admiring her martial skills, I seem to have appeased her. It was then that I began to see how Ms. Flora Shaw functioned. She loved control and my slightly submissive stance – let’s not call it ‘blubbering’ shall we – seemed to fill her with an unfeasible warmth towards me. I imagine it’s somewhat like how alligators go about finding their mates.
‘I suppose I could see my way to withdrawing my own nomination,’ she said. ‘With your friendly association chairman backing you up, I don’t see how I could possibly win.’

‘Well then,’ I replied, standing up and brushing down my suit before throwing myself at a nearby wall to reset my dislocated shoulder. ‘Let’s forgive and forget, shall we? No hard feelings?’

She looked at me sourly. ‘If I’m to forgive you, I expect something in exchange.’

‘Such as?’

She smiled and wagged her finger, more in thought than instruction, though I couldn’t help but feel myself come to heel. ‘You’re the sort of man who might appreciate a good scheme,’ she said, ‘so I’ll make you a deal. I won’t cause a stink about you joining the short list to become our Tory candidate, but you must do something for me.’

‘And should I refuse?’

‘I could always stand against you as an Independent Conservative. I’d probably take enough of your votes to help the Lib Dems get in. Do you think History could forgive you for spending another four years in the wilderness?’

‘You fiend!’ I cried, but the damn fiend only smiled even more victoriously.

‘Which makes it vitally important that you do me this favour,’ she said. ‘I have a sister who is standing for R---- L----. She’s a bright prospect but the silly girl has started a fling with her campaign manager. It’ll her do her no good and might even jeopardise the party. I want you to break them up.’

‘And how should I accomplish that?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know, but you’ll have two whole days to figure it out. They’ll be at the Tory training camp this weekend. You can take my ticket since it’s clear that I won’t be standing… Who knows, Jacob, you might learn something along the way. They send some bright people from Central Office to teach you everything you need to get through an election.’

‘I think I can handle myself in that regard,’ I assured her.

She smiled. ‘I saw you on Newsnight,’ she said.

‘Good, wasn’t I?’

Her laughter lit the room like a can of kerosene thrown onto a bonfire. ‘I couldn’t understand how you got away with it,’ she replied. ‘With some of the things you were saying, I didn’t think you were speaking on behalf of the Tory party.’

‘Really? Then which party did you think I represented?’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It did cross my mind that you were the spokesman for the Red Chinese.’

The absolute low down cheek of it!