Tim Farron had a plan. Manifesto launches were always so boring. A few tired-looking suits droning on for a few minutes in front of a handful of hacks and a dozen or so bussed-in party activists. Tim would go mega. The Liberal Democrats would pull an all-night rave.
“There’s just one snag,” said his advisers. “If we start the launch at 7pm, then our manifesto won’t get any coverage on the daytime or early-evening news bulletins.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Tim admitted. “Tell you what, though – how about we just publish the manifesto online at lunchtime? That way the broadcasters can pick it up if they think it’s interesting.”
“It’s not ideal …”
“Well, tough. I’ve already booked the Oval Space.”
“What’s that?”
“Only one of the most happening clubs in east London. There’s a pay bar and disco dancing till late. There’s even a chill-out room.”
“But we will actually be talking about the manifesto at some point, won’t we?” his advisers asked nervously.
“Whatever.”
By 6.30, about 500 people were standing around in a dark room staring at a window with “A Brighter Future” written on it, while the rain teemed down outside. A DJ played a mix of old reggae classics and soft house. Living the Lib Dem dream. Half an hour later, a woman came on to the stage.
“I’m Daisy Cooper,” she said. “Tim’s shadow minister for young people and candidate for St Albans. I’m here to part you from your cash.”
Cue some confusion as everyone was certain they had come for a manifesto launch. But Daisy had other ideas. People could donate money and at the end of the evening there would be a prize draw. “First prize is the chance to run round Hyde Park with Tim,” she said, mildly surprised by the lack of enthusiasm. Second prize was two laps of Hyde Park with Tim.
“And now I’m going to introduce our next speaker,” Daisy announced, before walking off without introducing anyone. Instead some yellow strobes flashed round the room as the crowd rocked out to Britain’s Eurovision entry. “Never give up on EU.”
Then out came Tim. The Tories may have accused Labour of taking the country back to the 1970s, with Labour countering that the Conservatives were heading back to the 1950s, but he was unapologetic about his desire to go back in time. To this time last year, when Britain was still in the EU. But first he wanted to talk a bit about Malcolm, the man with whom he had had a dust-up in Kidlington the week before, and let everyone know that the two of them had kissed and made up. Not a gay kiss, though it would have been fine if it had been, as Tim was perfectly OK with that sort of thing these days.
Guardian soulmates out the way, Tim draped a union flag around his shoulders and got down to business. The Liberal Democrats had a new radical vision of politics. Far too many people in the past had made the mistake of voting for the party they wanted to be in government. Now it was now time to vote for the opposition.
Only the Lib Dems could stand up to the Supreme Leader’s hard Brexit. Yes, he accepted the result of the referendum – will of the people, yada yada – but come on. Someone had to stand up for the liberal metropolitan elite Remainers. Besides, did those who voted leave really know what they were doing? Surely they deserved another chance to come to their senses once they had seen how crap everything was going to be?
“You should have the final say on whether Theresa May’s Brexit deal is right for you and your family in a referendum,” Tim said, as Beethoven’s Ode to Joy – the remix version ft Stormzy – played in the background. “And if you don’t like that deal, you should have the choice to remain in the European Union.”
After a quick promise to be nice to children, the climate and sheep, Tim was off. Bugger it. He’d been having such a good time, he’d forgotten to mention the manifesto. Still, what the hell? Vince Cable took over the decks and played the Verve’s The Drugs Don’t Work. For now. But they would if Tim got his way. Vote Lib Dem. The party that knows how to party.
