Last Saturday, I had the surreal experience of attending the Conservative Democratic Organisation (CDO) conference and dinner in Bournemouth. What I found was a group of Tory party members who were mad as hell, and determined to tell the world so at length. What I did not find was an organisation that knew if it wanted to be genuinely campaigning, a Boris Johnson love-in, or a talking shop for the perpetually disgruntled.
Our Editor had phoned me up to ask what I was doing on Saturday. An ominous sign – with a conference (and black tie dinner dance!) going on in Bournemouth I don’t want to go to. My only excuse was that I didn’t want to miss Eurovision; alas, for you, William, ze veekend is over.
Not only my passion for Eurotrash had put me off attending the CDO shebang. Everything I know about the new grassroots campaign suggests we wouldn’t get along. Internal party democracy is not an issue that usually gets me onto the barricades (or dancefloor). I do not like the seaside. And I am no paid-up votary of the Johnson cult.
That was the underlying purpose of this Bournemouth bash. The CDO was born out of efforts to get Johnson on the ballot last summer. The organisers denied they want a ‘Tory Momentum’; the politicians assembled were keen to stress another leadership election would be ludicrous. Yet when Rees-Mogg said the room should swing behind Rishi Sunak, there was silence. When the CEO mooted a possible Boris return – “I know Jacob said we don’t want another leader, but I actually think if we did get Boris back in time for the next election we could stand a chance” – and said she hoped to see him later, attendees roared.”
Many miles away, in a hotel near Henley, Boris Johnson rolls out of bed and checks his phone. Pritster: Fourteen missed calls. Cruddas: Big Dog! Signed that Tattinger yet? The Dorrinator: Where r u? Speaking at 5 x
I was amongst the Jacobites. Even if the CDO aren’t open restorationists, their other stated objectives are wide-ranging: strengthening members’ power in leadership elections, reducing CCHQ’s control over candidate selection, and returning the party to whatever Dan Wootton has decreed ‘real conservatism’ is this week. Nobody was quite sure which was the priority.
I want the power to pick the leader taken away from members and returned to MPs. If the price for this is greater freedom in selecting candidates or an elected chairman, then sure. This was not a bargain from which I expected much enthusiasm from Peter Cruddas, the ex-Tory donor bankrolling the whole thing, or Nadine Dorries, Priti Patel, and other attending MPs.
Nonetheless, as I settled into my seat and perused the available literature, I speculated that the day would answer a few questions. Did attendees want a ‘Bring Back Boris ball’, or a genuine attempt to ‘take control’ from CCHQ? Were they genuine long-standing Tory members or Laurence Fox enthusiasts? What time did the bar open, and could you get a decent pint of bitter?
I wasn’t left waiting long. GB News had positioned a pair of boxes at the entrance with Sunak and Johnson’s faces on them. You could drop a ball behind which you preferred; the latter outpaced the former by a factor of 20. I met one or two former Reformers but most were genuine disgruntled Tories. Oh, and lunchtime, and certainly not.
The speakers aimed to make up for the lack of decent beer that, once the formalities had been attended to, speaker after speaker made their opinions cask strength. By way of illustration, Alex Story, a former Olympics rower and Conservative candidate, suggested that Johnson had been brought down by the first “coup”, in the United Kingdom’s history. Amazing how he spent all those years rowing for Cambridge without ever hearing of Oliver Cromwell.
The common criticism of speakers was that Britain looks like “Labour has ruled us for the last 26 years”. Our party had become “social democratic”; too many MPs were “not real conservatives”. That the tax burden and wokery reached a record size under Johnson passes them by.
A quick text to Zelensky. “Expecting another 12 from you tonight, Vlodster.”. Two minutes later, his reply: “I thought you were going to Bournemouth, no? Did you get the beers I sent for the auction? I hear the Ferris wheel is most excellent”.
Who is to blame instead? So many culprits were rolled out: the civil service, the EU, MPs, Rishi Sunak, Vladimir Putin, tofu-eaters, Mikel Arteta. By the time, Andrea Jenkyns – between her renditions of the national anthem – labelled some of her fellow MPs Liberal Democrats and condemned those who “don’t believe in Britain”, I was more preoccupied with a crick in my neck.
Unfortunately, the rapid head shaking I used to deal with this was taken by the woman behind me as a signal of my lack of patriotism, and not that I needed a new pillow. “What the hell are you doing here, if you don’t believe in Britain!” she hollered. Rather embarrassing, but a good opportunity for me to reflect on my fellow attendees.
I am a Westminster creature and a rather green one at that. I don’t have daily contact with party members: the actual people who campaign, stuff letters, run raffles, raise funds, and hopefully read this website. I can postulate at dinner parties about replacing leaders, but these are the people who must campaign for them. They are angry, and it had passed me by.
I was confronted by those who had been party members for much longer than I’d been alive, and had voted for Johnson and Liz Truss only for MPs to take them away. Why stay as a Tory, if your taxes are higher, schools pump out wokery, and your party ignores you? Why did they campaign for that December landslide, if its author and figurehead were going to junked without your say?
As a campaigner was awarded for his long commitment to expanding party democracy, I started to feel I’d misjudged the whole affair. Blinded by my covetousness towards my Saturday nights, I’d allowed youthful cynicism to cloud what should have been a wake-up call. This was a party dancing on a volcano – even if it might appear as a few pensioners and Tory Boys cheering in a largely empty hall.
But then Wootton came out, started warbling about “snivel servants”, and I scrambled for the bar. A party that chooses a former gossip columnist as its sage has ceased to be a serious entity. Real interest in party democracy was a distraction from a campaign jamboree for a man who didn’t even bother to turn up.
The cast later reassembled for the dinner, auction, and dance. As fellow hacks bid for signed truffles, I circulated amongst attendees. “What should happen when MPs want one leader and members back another?” I tried to ask. They didn’t see a problem; in their minds, it was forever December 13th 2019.
I left to catch the Eurovision results in my hotel’s bar. As the organisers and attendees drifted through, I learnt that the plan is to repeat the affair at a rival positioned next to autumn’s party conference. That would obviously be a disastrous look ahead of an election. Although the CDO might protest that they don’t want a Labour government, I suspect they wouldn’t really mind. Not only because they think we already have one, but because being angry is so much easier than doing anything worthwhile.
Congratulations Sweden; the party drifts to a close. One of his wife’s friends leans over, empty champagne flute in hand. “You weren’t ever really thinking of going to that thing in Bournemouth, were you?” Johnson grins, mumbles something about Ferris wheels, and takes another sip of Ukrainian lager.