The Whip and The back Seat

You may well ask what the connection is. I have experience with whips, important ones actually because they have much influence upon the affairs of already disrupted parliamentary families. The Sainted One always got along well with his whips and there was quite a selection during twenty seven years (of course you will all have got the double entendre) ….one of the reasons was because they all seemed to me to have a great sense of humour and were not at all up their….. well you know what I mean…. Here is the thing, it really is difficult to think highly of a bloke who rides a girls bike (that’s what it looked like anyway with a fancy basket on the front) and then loses his rag with a policeman who is just doing his job calls him that dreaded thing “working class” at least that’s what he meant I suppose. There were other choice words of course, but those are hotly contended, the worst and really dumb thing was of course asking him if he knew who he was? … I bet the policeman wanted to tell him what he was , but he didn’t did he? The policeman gets my vote.

Now while we are on the ridiculous subject of class which basically seems to me to be a ubiquitous sobriquet, with politicians it would seem a case of “if the cap suits wear it” . I mean anyone who is called Vince has a bit of a start I would say , so there is this bloke Vince at the first of those gatherings of weird groupies who pop up at political conferences telling us he is a “pleb” what on earth does he mean? Actually he is a toff who is public school educated so believe me he is not the real thing!!!! …. Well someone once called me an Essex Woman I was so pleased but not so pleased when a man called me the C word, from the safety of his white van I might add , I refused to move in my Vauxhall until he apologised, the traffic built up, and he reluctantly said he was sorry he had called me a C—,feeling vindicated I started to drive of . But he had the last word, he would wouldn’t he, because he was a man? “Well you are one anyway “ he screamed as he drove off tossing a bag of malodorous rubbish out of the window.

Well just so that you know, according to the wonderful Alice Thompson in the Times, who is always right. The Sainted One and moi are now officially “working class” because, when the Sainted One drives a car on an excursion with two of our friends who happen to be male and female, the blokes go in the front and the girls ( I say that laughingly of course) go derriere. It’s more fun that way.

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