by Stevan Balac
Illustration by Iga Jasinska
Harvey Delauney Snogglesworth, President-at-Large of LSE Conservative Society, gives a thoughtful and stimulating glimpse into life as a Young Tory through his weekly diary. Harvey is a smartly-dressed chap – sharp of wit and firm of buttock – and sails through life with rosy cheeks and a squeaky clean Barbour. So join President Snogglesworth – the youngest person in history to contract gout – as he limps from the candle-lit taverns of Fleet Street to the swanky bars of Soho, on a high-octane diet of sex, drugs and Mummy’s blackcurrant jam. This week, with the debauchery of the festive season over and the hustle and bustle of a new term beginning, Harvey dips his toe into the murky world of the Student Political Commentator, tussling for a seat on Mike Graham’s primetime TalkTV show; ‘Meghan and Harry…Grrrrrrr’.
Monday 9th January
‘O Come, All Ye Faithless’
Well that’s all the Yuletide cheer over for another year folks. And my last day of penicillin which means, happily, I can join my loyal brigade tonight for the society’s start of term drinks. Christmas was a blast – although, like any loyal subject of King Charles* – much of my New Year was spent bedridden in a Brie and Sloe Gin-induced coma. I think it was Boxing Day that finished me off properly; gaining consciousness around midnight, I found myself half naked and shivering under a holly bush – only my Calvin K’s and a few sticky pages of someone’s family Bible for warmth. A rather quaint festive scene, when one thinks about it. That was one of my, sort of, less sensible moments; I really thought I’d got past that bare-bottomed First Year mix of confusion, desperation and rabid fecundity. It appears not. What Larks, Pip. In any case, onwards and upwards: my bowels have regained continence and its action stations…
*(the 2nd)
Tuesday 10th January
‘Network… and ye shall find’
Well, last night’s drinks proved far more fruitful than the usual cacophony of bollocks that us execs are met with by the first year Tory keenos. ‘Nationalisation, numbers, metrics, voting patterns’, blah blah blah. Arse-biscuits, say I! Real politics is about issues of the utmost moral importance: they are debates about culture, Sir – like whether Drag Queens should be able to read Little Red Riding Hood to primary school kids. Or how much of a pansy-wansy Harry Styles looks in a frock. You know – serious stuff. Which is why I was delighted that, after schmoozing with some of London’s finest young political commentators, I seemed to have winged my way onto a guest spot on TalkTV tomorrow night… Godddd – even spilling the ink on this page fills me with glee – the sights! The sounds! The smells! The Internet exposure! Maybe I, too, could one day have a tweet about dubious vaccine efficacy shared by a middle-aged ex-Coronation Street actress.
Just think of the possibilities!
Wednesday 11th January
‘D-Day’
God, what a rush. I feel exhilarated; the first great leap into my career in political commentary. My head’s spinning. I know it’s silly of me, but I genuinely haven’t felt so excited since the grand final of the Bury-St-Edmunds Parsnip Measuring Competition back in that hazy summer of ‘16. To the point – I found myself, suit pressed and hair freshly Bryll creamed, waiting in the studio just before my spot on The Dinghy Discourse with Jeremy Kyle, a programme dedicated to highlighting the nuances and complexities of asylum-seeking in the UK. Obviously, having written for the Mail Online for the past six weeks, I was more than qualified to cover such issues in detail. But, I don’t know, I got such doubts sitting in that bright studio just before, getting my last touches of hair and makeup and watching the claymation chaps sculpt Jeremy’s face together with a rolling pin moments before air. I was wallowing in self-pity, starting to panic about what I would say in the heat of battle – when, like an Epiphany shining through the windows of TalkTV Towers, I remembered my scripture: Peterson 3:16 – those dulcet tones every successful Young Tory should remind themselves of:
‘It’s like, you have to slay the bloody lobster and take the gold back to your castle – eh?’.
Sage words indeed. And that’s all I needed to hear. Long story short, I screwed my courage to the sticking point, and the appearance went brilliantly. Kyle was impressed, and with the exception of one chap from Skegness that deviated slightly and started talking about the Clintons killing Anthony Bourdain, the callers all made insightful and topical contributions. But alas, it has ignited in me immeasurable passions. My ambition has grown, and my eyes glance longingly towards the main studio door…
Thursday 12th January
‘Fortune – Turn Thy Swivel Chair’
We have a problem. I have become addicted to this media lifestyle. The object of my passions is, I’ll admit, slightly out of my league. She’s a TalkTV flagship production, usually only accessible to those student e-commentators who’ve had at least one weeks work experience with a backbench Conservative MP, Tweet sixteen times an hour, and have a minimum forehead breadth of 14 inches. However, as Fortuna herself would have it, the previous incumbent of ‘Meghan and Harry….Grrrrr’ – a Durham graduate by the name of Hugh de Twȃttishlittlégrin – is currently on sabbatical after breaking both his legs on the skiing circuit. My ambition is once more set alight – the game is afoot! I have no delusions about this undertaking. The work will be long and hard, the competition stiff, and the childish innuendos plentiful. But I’m going to have a crack. I feel that I am, truly, officially, yours faithfully – A Political Commentator!
Exeunt.
