Saturday
In my long experience, new parties grow like mushrooms but rarely survive long past breakfast. At one time, Lord Sutch and his party were all the rage: so much so that little Steel insisted we stand down in Sutch’s favour in half the constituencies across the country. It did not come to anything and I never thought it would.
Today the talk is of someone called Farage. Farage? Rather a fancified, Frenchified name, don’t you think? Evan a little poncey, as dear Violent would have put it. I find it easy to imagine the man having his lunch: whereas you or I would choose a pork pie or gamey stilton, Farage would favour the leg of a frog or perhaps some snails. No doubt he wears a beret too and cycles the lanes of England selling onions. He may think this a clever way of meeting voters, but I cannot see him prospering.
Clear off, M. Farage: We don’t want your sort in Rutland! (In all fairness, I must add that, when I mentioned this to Meadowcroft, his eyes lit up at the prospect of someone clearing his vegetable garden of snails.)
Lord Bonkers was Liberal MP for Rutland South-West 1906-10.
Previously in Lord Bonkers' Diary
- Monday: "I Made Eastleigh Happen"
- Tuesday: The Cleggs in Switzerland
- Wednesday: Rutland six-card stud
- Thursday: Clegg on Milton Keynes
- Friday: Violent Bonham-Carter's manor
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