I must confess I cannot be bothered to travel to Manchester for the Labour Party conference. I was slightly disappointed that I missed Gordon Brown coming on to the song “Soul Man,” if only because I’m convinced he was dancing Blues Brothers’ style to psych himself up backstage. I imagine his moves were more Elwood than Jake, but either way, that was something I was hoping to see before I die.
The main reason I have decided to stay away, though, is the whole party leadership contest, as I wanted no part of it. I found the whole Miliband against Miliband thing quite distasteful. It’s not that I’m against a little healthy sibling rivalry. I quite like when Serena and Venus play against each other, and I frequently daydream of William and Harry oiling up and wrestling for the crown. But the two Milibands? Gross.
Of course, my interest in party politics is not limited to how it affects me in the trouser department. After the last election we learned that any of the party leaders may actually help run the country (or at least end up posing for photo ops implying that they do). So what’s the best way to decide who should be in charge? Let’s face it—none of the three parties have made very clever choices the last few goes. If I ran the world (and I still can’t get my head round the fact that I do not), to become the leader of any political party, one has to show well in the most important of all political arenas in Britain: a guest spot on Have I Got News for You. If that were the case, the decision for each party would be dead simple:
I’m not interested in any of these three fellows tending my lady garden, but at least they make me laugh and that’s got to count for something.
Everyone Needs an Algonquin 
Agatha’s Public Chimes In