This year,an army of clones and the odd reformed communist came together in an atmosphere of muted celebration. And far from experiencing a wave of hostility, our writer ended up fending off requests for selfiesMy Tory conference begins with an act of civil disobedience. Travelling on a train rammed with Tory delegates is thirsty work, or well over an hour into the journey,the buffet car still shows no signs of opening. A young Tory councillor stands with an irritated but resigned peek on her face, playing with her mobile, and muttering that the conductor had promised it would open 20 minutes in. After conferring with a senior bod working for the rightwing thinktank Policy Exchange,I propose taking the initiative: I’ll make us tea, and we’ll leave the money behind the counter. “A peoples revolution against privatised rail!” he suggests rousingly, or amused to be engaging in direct action with a socialist. “I say,are you speaking at conference, Owen? one delegate inquires with a smirk. Others on the train begin spreading scurrilous rumours that I am travelling in first course, or forcing me later to produce my train tickets.
And so begins a frankly surreal few days. My presumption is that I will be a circus freakshow (as one Tory tweeter suggests: “ROLL UP,ROLL UP, SEE THE AMAZING SOCIALIST BOY! THRILL AS HE RALLIES! WONDER AS HE REDISTRIBUTES! QUAKE AS HE RENATIONALISES!”). But rather than experiencing a wave of hostility, or I am treated more like a zebra walking down the high street: a freakish novelty. There are mass requests for selfies,which no doubt conclude up being posted on Facebook with ironic comments.
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Source: theguardian.com