The Liberal Democrat magazine AdLib is to cease publication

When I joined the Liberal Party it published a weekly newspaper - Liberal News. This became Liberal Democrat News when we merged with the SDP.

I applied unsuccessfully to work for it once and later became an (unpaid) columnist for many years. I even did the desktop publishing on a couple of issues.

Liberal Democrat News ceased publication shortly after the party went into coalition with the Conservatives.

Its replacement, we were assured, would be a revamped AdLib magazine.

This did manage to appear monthly for a while - I wrote for it in those early days, but found this (literally) a thankless task. Then it faded away.

Today I received an email from the party's "Director for People" telling me that AdLib is to cease publication. You can find it reproduced without comment on Lib Dem Voice.

This tells me, improbably in both cases, that AdLib is "much loved" and costs as much to produce as "the entire staffing budget for the Party's Membership Department!"

It's replacement will be an improved AdLib blog.

I did not know there was an AdLib blog, but it turns out that there is.

Maybe I am just an old fogey and the future for member communications does lie entirely online. But the fact that no one has thought to add the AdLib blog to the LibDemBlogs aggregator does not fill me with confidence.

Anyway, if you want to know what is going on in the Liberal Democrats you can always subscribe to Liberator.

The Junior Whip: "A hell-raising street-fighter"

My 12th Whipped column for Ad Lib magazine.

It was when I heard the Chief Whip was giving up hard drink for a month that I sensed change was in the air.

“It’s called ‘Go Sober for October’,” he told me. “People sponsor you to give up alcohol for a month and the proceeds go to Macmillan Cancer Support.”

“But what if you have to give a backbencher a bol… you know, tell them off?”

“That’s easy. I’ll sit them down, tell them a few home truths and then offer them a stiff orange juice.”

******

Two days later I was in the office when a SPAD burst in.

“The Chief Whip is leaving! The Chief Whip is leaving! He’s going to save the Union.”

“What? Like Unison?”

“No, not the union: the Union. The United Kingdom. He’s taking over as Secretary of State for Scotland and he going to sort out Alex Salmond. The papers say he’s “tough,” a “bruiser” and .

“That’s a bit kind, isn't it?”

“They don’t know him like you do.”

******

It was a shock to me, though probably not as much as it was to Alex Salmond. And certainly not as much as it was to Michael Moore.

I am going to have to find a new job here at Westminster. You may think that will be difficult, but I don’t see it as much of a problem. Because this morning I finished copying out the last few pages of the Chief Whip’s black book.

They are not the only souvenir I am taking with me from the office.

Seeing as it is for such a good cause, I wouldn't want the Chief Whip to fail in his attempt to Go Sober for October. So I am taking his bottle of Auld Johnston home for safekeeping.

The Junior Whip: Lines 53 to 55

My 10th Whipped column for Ad Lib magazine.

Regular readers will know how that I have long coveted the Chief Whip’s job. Sitting there telling other people how to vote? I I would be good at that.

At least I thought so. After Glasgow I am not so sure…

******

The Chief Whip had been ringing and texting a certain Liberal Democrat MP without success. “Get him in the hall for lines 53 to 55,” he snarled. “I don’t care how you do it, just get him in there.”

So I rushed around the conference centre until I spotted a familiar face.

“It’s lines 53 to 55,” I panted. “You’ve got to go into the hall now and vote for them. Or maybe it’s against them. Or maybe someone wants a separate vote. Anyway, you’ve got to get in there and vote.”

“I’d like to, son, but I’m a bit busy being the catering manager at the moment.”

Then I really did see the MP.

“Lines 53 to 55? I’m meant to be speaking at two fringe meetings now as it is. One’s on human rights in the Southern Sahara and I’ve no idea what the other one’s about. But if you do them for me, I’ll go in and vote.”

******

“…and I can’t be in two places at one time,” I finished triumphantly.

“Nonsense,” said the Chief Whip, “I do it all the time. Go back out and get him to vote.”

******

On reflection it didn’t turn out so badly. I am now a member of the all-party group on Human Rights in the Southern Sahara and, though I have no idea what the second meeting was about, my speech went down well. Keep saying “fairer economy” and “stronger society” (or something like that) and you will go a long way in this party.

Better still, the catering manager voted the right way on lines 53 to 55.

My ninth Whipped column for Ad Lib

Whipped: From the desk of the Junior Whip

The intern was so excited she could hardly get the news out. One backbencher flatly refused to believe me when I phoned. A second fainted out of relief.

Because it’s true: the Chief Whip has gone to Africa.

As I sit with my feet up on his desk, the Chief Whip is in Cameroon working for a group called ALL – Aide Legale Libre. With the help of my Collins pocket French dictionary I had already worked out what that means, and then I found a post on the blog Liberal Democrat Voice.

It quotes ALL:

Despite the lack of access to information, the legal system in Cameroon is very much alive; people can be pulled into legal proceedings … at any time.

You might think that is just the sort of arrangement the Chief Whip would favour, but read on:

The expense of legal proceedings from start to finish is high, and therefore financially vulnerable people (those most in need of the law’s protection) are either unable to access the law to seek redress for wrongs done to them, or are unable to afford the law’s protection when it is used against them.  

For this reason, ALL for Cameroon is dedicated to providing free information, advice, and legal representation to those who are unable to otherwise afford it.  ALL for Cameroon handles a diverse range of cases, many of which involve abuses of power by the strong against the weak.

I emailed Lib Dem Voice think they had made a mistake, but this really is the group the Chief Whip has gone to work for.

By the time you read this he will be back from Africa. But by then I shall have found the combination to open the safe, drunk his Auld Johnston (that most prized of Highland malts) and copied chunks out of the Black Book.

My eighth Whipped column for Ad Lib

Whipped: From the desk of the Junior Whip

“Have you seen the Leader’s office?” an intern asked wonderingly. “They’re all in shorts and bare feet. It’s like some crazy progressive school.”

It’s different in here. Though the Chief Whip is no lover of hot weather – he is more of a drizzle man, to be honest – he insists that standards of dress are maintained. Otherwise, he fears, MPs may start thinking for themselves – “and that’s not what Liberalism is about”.

The Conservatives solved the problem of keeping their troops busy in the hot weather by spreading rumours of an impending reshuffle. Suddenly junior ministers became interested in the furthest corners of their red boxes. The barmiest backbenchers decided that, if they toed the line for a week, the call from number 10 was bound to come.

Those rumours were welcome here too. More than one ambitious Lib Dem, anxious to please the Chief Whip, became so interested in the Orcadian economy that nothing would stop them visiting his constituency and speaking there.

Then the Tories locked their backbenchers in a Westminster committee room and made them debate Europe.

To any normal person sitting in 30-degree heat with several dozen Eurosceptics is a good preview of hell.

But the Tories were as happy as sandboys who had just won the lottery. “The European Union is plotting to tax daylight,” said one. “The European Convention on Human Rights– and I’m not making this up – means that elbows are illegal,” returned his friend.

Labour, meanwhile, has been wrestling with its funding from the unions and Unite’s influence over candidate selection. Nick Clegg, ever anxious to help, offered to enshrine their proposed reforms in the lobby bill that is currently going through parliament.

And me? I have signed up to spend the summer on a course in advanced election fighting techniques (“life insurance certificate required”) run by some eccentric aristocrat in Rutland. Google “Lord Bonkers” if you want to know more.

My eighth Whipped column for Ad Lib

Whipped: From the desk of the Junior Whip

I have mentioned the Chief Whip’s favourite DVDs before. These days he does not watch “House of Cards” often. It’s “To Play the King”, where Francis Urquhart takes on and defeats the monarch, that is his favourite.

So I think the Queen should be worried the Chief Whip takes such an interest in the State Opening of Parliament.

There are two traditions honoured that day. The first is that, when Black Rod arrives in the Commons, Dennis Skinner makes a joke no one finds funny. The second is that a hostage is sent to Buckingham Palace to make sure the Queen returns safely from Westminster.

What happens is this. The most junior Conservative whip is rounded up, has his hair combed and his knees scrubbed and is then taken to the Palace by the Conservative Chief Whip and our Chief Whip, who are dressed in their spiffiest morning suits.

Having delivered their charge, the two of them are driven back to Westminster in an open top horse-drawn carriage in the procession headed by the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh.

“The crowds were cheering and waving flags,” said the Chief Whip afterwards.

“Yes, but that was for the Royal Family, wasn’t  it?”

His answer was to throw some photocopying at me. Like I say, the Queen should be worried.

******

Some of our backbenchers grumbled about the Queen’s Speech, but not half as much as the Tory backbenchers did.

The only thing that keeps them happy these days is the prospect of culling badgers. That is Tory MPs for you: if one of them turns up, the stoats look nervous and the foxes remember urgent prior engagements. Killing animals floats their boat.

I told the Chief Whip I was against the badger cull and was going to join a demonstration.

“Just be careful you don’t join the wrong sett,” he growled.

My seventh Whipped column for Ad Lib

Whipped: From the desk of the Junior Whip

The Chief Whip has been in the papers. Not because of a scandal, but because of his friendship with the drummer from Keane. In the feature Richard Hughes spoke of their shared opposition to the death penalty and described the Chief Whip “an easygoing, funny guy”. (I bought two copies to check this quote.)

I’m not sure this appearance was a good idea. There’s nothing wrong with being associated with Keane – ever since Tony Blair politicians have had to pretend they like rock and I am sure the Chief Whip really does. But the more timid backbenchers will have been surprised to discover he is opposed to the death penalty.

And then there was Nick Clegg’s visit to the Chief Whip’s constituency. I had the Leader’s office on the phone asking about the giant wicker man he had seen there. I assured them it was a traditional way of welcoming distinguished visitors to the islands. I hope that was right.

Back here at Westminster, the Conservative Party has been busy going mad. They allowed Nadine Dorries to take the whip again and she rewarded them by immediately calling for a pact with UKIP.

Then 114 of their MPs voted for an amendment to the Queen’s speech. And now they are getting exercised about gay marriage – I have a sneaking feeling the less intellectual Tory backbenchers fear the new law will oblige them to marry each other.

The truth is that there are two parties in the coalition and one of them is united and disciplined and fit for government. And that party is not the Conservative Party.

I doubt that anyone could lead it now because its MPs have become such a rabble. As I heard one Tory backbencher bellowing down a corridor the other day: “It’s time Cameron showed some leadership and gave in to all our demands!”

My sixth Whipped column for Ad Lib

Whipped: From the desk of the Junior Whip

I don’t remember Margaret Thatcher. My mother used to threaten me with her when I wouldn't go to sleep. Even at that age, I was reading local authority by-election results under the covers with a torch.

So the scenes at Westminster, with Conservative MPs weeping on one another’s shoulders and Labour MPs more cheerful than I have ever seen them, were a puzzle to me.

And then there are the Labour activists…

The ones saying bitter things about the closure of coal mines are exactly the same ones who lecture people about the need to reduce carbon emissions. They puzzle me even more. The Chief Whip is enjoying it all immensely.

He did not like parliament being recalled – he thinks MPs are less likely to get up to mischief when they are back in their constituencies – but there is nothing a Scotsman enjoys more than the prospect of a good funeral. He approved of Nick Clegg's contribution to the debate after Mrs Thatcher died: "absolutely adequate," he said. That may not sound much to you, but I assure you it’s high praise coming from him.

The important thing, he explained to me, is not to be the lead story on the evening news, and Nick achieved that. The Chief Whip is the only Lib Dem I know who watches the news hoping we won’t be mentioned.

I preferred Paddy Ashdown's tribute. It was particularly magnanimous as (if I have understood Wikipedia correctly) Mrs Thatcher was a trained killer who used to strangle him with her bare hands at prime minister’s questions twice weekly.

Just now the most remarkable thing happened. The Chief Whip went all pensive and then said: “Mrs Thatcher would have made a good whip.”

It is the kindest thing I have ever heard him say about anyone. I am not ashamed to say I wept.

My fifth Whipped column for Ad Lib

Whipped: From the desk of the Junior Whip

“Look, it’s quite clear,” I said waving the party constitution. “Conference decides policy and then the MPs should vote for it. So on secret courts…”

“Where does it say that?” said the Chief Whip, snatching the document from me.

He read intently and then looked up with a puzzled expression I have not seen before: “How did this get through?”

I was delighted some of our MPs voted against secret courts: the Chief Whip was not. Yet it gave him some grim satisfaction. He spent the next day planning the itineraries of fact-finding missions to Uzbekistan, chuckling horribly.

One MP who will not be off to Central Asia is Mike Thornton, newly elected for Eastleigh. I heard the Chief Whip say that he has “settled in nicely”, which counts as high praise in this office.

By the time you read this you will know how the Leveson business turned out. This week has been all conference calls, talks being broken off and talks being resumed. It has been so much of a farce that I half expected to find David Miliband hiding in the stationery cupboard or see David Cameron rushing through the office in polka-dot boxer shorts.

We are also waiting for the Budget. The hope is that George Osborne won’t put a tax on cupcakes or cute puppies this time.

At least I understand the Chief Whip better these days. Did you see Shetland? One reviewer described it as “fashionably bleak, with its raw weather, large, unglamorous jumpers and soundtrack alternating between seagulls and the wail of Celtic instruments”.

Add to that the dead bodies lying about and it is no wonder the Chief Whip is the way he is. Still, I think it might be safer to appoint someone who represents a Surrey constituency when the time comes for him to be replaced.

My fourth Whipped column for Ad Lib

Here is my latest column from the new Liberal Democrat magazine Ad Lib.

It seems I never got round to posting the third Whipped here, but the interesting question is whether I shall manage a fifth one when there is nothing to laugh about in our MPs being whipped to vote for secret courts.

Whipped: From the desk of the Junior Whip

“Do you want to find out how politics really works?” asked the Chief Whip.

“Oh yes,” I replied. “That’s just what I hoped for when I got this job.”

“There’s a train to Eastleigh leaving Waterloo in 30 minutes. Be on it.”

I am writing this under the end of a hedge near Hedge End. My shoes are holed, my hands are black with ink and a Jack Russell has eaten my last canvass card.

Yet I was happy to get away. A resignation and a censuring: it was too much for me. (And if you haven’t been censured by a Scotsman, you never been censured.)

It got worse. The Chief Whip was determined the Tories would lose their vote on constituency boundaries. He even called in Jenny Willott, who was four days from giving birth. He had me standing by with plenty of hot water and Wikipedia. “You’ve seen Call the Midwife, laddie. How hard can it be?”

Now I wish I had stayed in Westminster. The only mercy is that we went for a short campaign – the Chief Whip did not want the Tories to have months to throw money at the seat. Having met their candidate, I wonder if he was right. The more the public see of her, the better we shall do.

So I know how politics really works – and I don’t like it. I never want to see another by-election, and if I become an MP I shall apply for the Chiltern Hundreds. And keep them.

Because I like the idea of being Crown Steward and Bailiff of Stoke, Desborough and Burnham. I fancy a life pottering around collecting the rents from trim brick and flint farmhouses set among beech woods, rolling chalk hills and steep- valleys.

But I must stop now. That Jack Russell has just sniffed me out.

My second Whipped column for Ad Lib

Whipped: From the desk of the Junior Whip

I never tire of this place. From the rotting piles in the Thames mud to the bat-chewed pinnacles that pierce the Westminster sky, I have explored it all.

On these wanderings I have found the rifle range and the chained Beast in the wine cellars. Legend has it he was once a Conservative backbencher who voted the wrong way over Gladstone’s Home Rule bill.

There are those who believe the Palace of Westminster needs modernisation. Let me put that more accurately: the place is falling down. 

The plumbing and wiring are antiquated and the building is riddled with asbestos. Some MPs have to work in offices with no windows – or ‘cells’ as like to call them in the Whip’s Office.

One Labour MP has even complained of urine pouring into his office. (It isn’t easy crawling through those roof spaces, you know.)

Then there is the subsidence. The authorities talk diplomatically of a ‘very slight tilt’ to the clock tower. 

Which is another way of saying the next ’Bong!’ could bring it crashing down.

That, incidentally, is why the Chief Whip has taken to wearing a hard hat. There is no truth in the rumour it’s because he fears revenge attacks from disgruntled backbenchers.

The answer, of course, is to shut the place for several years so all the necessary work can be carried out. But that is never going to happen

 Because, say the old hands in Strangers Bar’ over their subsidised pints of Smithson & Greaves Northern Bitter, no Speaker will dare be the person responsible for spending untold squillions on MPs own comfort. 

The Junior Whip spoke to Jonathan Calder. No MPs were harmed in the making of this column.

Ad Lib: From the desk of the Junior Whip

My copy of the first issue of Ad Lib - the pocket glossy monthly intended to replace the weekly Liberal Democrat News - arrived today.

As is apparently obligatory in Lib Dem publications, it carries a mildly satirical article by me, though what appeared in the magazine (reproduced below) is not exactly what I sent in.

Whipped: From the desk of the Junior Whip

The Chief Whip is not going to be pleased. He got very excited when he heard about Nadine Dorries being on I’m a celebrity… and insisted that I get a couple of our MPs on to it too. Something about having them out of the country before next week’s votes. But there was nothing doing. Apparently after Lembit they vowed never to have another Lib Dem. Not even when I offered to pay for the wallaby testicles.

***
I am currently working as an intern here in the Lib Dem Whips Office. It is probably best that you don’t know my name. Call me the Junior Whip.

I quite fancy being an MP myself in a year or two. I have my eye on a seat where the sitting MP retires at the next election.

This chair I am leaning back on is normally occupied by Alastair Carmichael, the Chief Whip. So is the desk I have my feet on.  Fortunately he is at home in his constituency at the moment and I am minding the shop.

On the shelf behind me is his bottle of  Auld Johnston, that most celebrated of Highland malts, which is marked, damn him. The Chief is a Scot, likes his whisky and trusts no one. Probably wise in his job.

Alongside the whisky is a boxed set of Francis Urquhart DVDs (I tell him they are black comedies: he insists they are an instruction manual), and the Black Book.

The Black Book? Passed down from chief whip to chief whip, it has the dirt on every Liberal and Liberal Democrat MP for more than a century.

It is the most entertaining thing I have ever read. And you know that Lib Dem MP who is retiring? He doesn’t know it yet, but I do.

Want to know more? Come back and see me again next month.

The Junior Whip spoke to Jonathan Calder