A big, affectionate slap on the rump

Before the waters of oblivion close over its head, let's celebrate yesterday's Simon Hoggart sketch from the Tory Conference:

For the first time I can recall Ken Clarke seemed, in his own rough and ready way, to be wooing the Conservative party. It's not exactly fine wines and Belgian chocolates offered on bended knee, more "how does a Scotch egg and a pint sound?" while bellied up to the bar - but at least he showed he cared.

In the past he has given the impression that he knows he's the best, the only real choice; if the party doesn't agree, that's their problem, not his, and he's got a Charlie Parker album to listen to. Yesterday he got to work on them, hitting their hot buttons, stroking their hopes, fears and prejudices. The late Julian Critchley said Michael Heseltine knew exactly where to find the clitoris of the Conservative party. Clarke is less subtle; instead he gave them a big, affectionate slap on the rump.