The Tory Party Conference.
The First Rule of Life in Britain is simple enough, and one that I learned a long time ago: during the week of the Tory Party Conference, do not switch on the television.
I forgot the rule; I switched the TV on. Now I’m suffering for my mistake.
Tory politicians are such an obnoxious bunch. They’re arrogant, pompous, aloof and didactic. Their body language oozes insincerity and the instinct for manipulation. They read from scripts cleverly written in the language of empty rhetoric and hyperbole. They have shifty eyes and oily mannerisms. And their favourite ploy is to take cheap shots at the easiest targets – today’s were the unemployed and immigrants. Then they take their bows while the brain dead masses in the audience stand and applaud the shameful shabbiness of it all.
It’s utterly nauseating, and I haven’t managed to climb out of the depressive state it engendered in me yet.
I just tried listening to some music. I thought it would help, but I made an ill-considered choice. All it produced was an abiding image of a woman in America, dancing. And that troubled me for a wholly different reason…