That Hippy, Blair

When Goldsmith ran for election, he received two gifts from an old family friend: a bus-load of casino employees, and a Bactrian Camel. The casino workers were undoubtedly useful. But in the long run, however, it was the camel that people would remember.

It was the first recorded use of a camel in a Suffolk general election campaign. The camel didn’t look particularly happy about it, but then, camels generally don’t look happy. It’s to do with the shape of their jaws, and should not be taken as a mark of their political allegiances. The slogan on its back read “No deserts in Suffolk. Vote Goldsmith.” This was a bit of a strange policy platform, in the middle of a flood-plain. And it was stranger to see it endorsed by the only desert adapted mammal for hundreds of miles.

Teddy Goldsmith, one of PEOPLE’s first parliamentary candidates, lead a procession of sheikhs through the village and tried to appear electable. It was… not easy. But at least the press had come out. He might finally get some coverage in a magazine other than the one he owned. This seemed more important than ever, now that he’d met some of his readers.

They were almost uniformly long haired, bearded, and weird. They were… passionate about politics, which is not necessarily a good thing in an activist. Goldsmith had spent twenty minutes cornered by one of them debating his policy on immigrant repatriation. He had quickly realised that they would be useless door to door. It had occurred to him that the least offensive thing to do with the hippies would be to dress them up as Arabs and parade them through town with a camel.[1]


The PEOPLE Party had been founded less than two years previously by a group of friends who were concerned about an article on over-population they’d read in [Playboy magazine. Tony Whittaker and the others had the political will and understanding of policy, and Goldsmith’s Blueprint for Survival had provided the movement with a more coherent political ideology.

The hippies… Teddy wasn’t exactly sure where they fitted into things. For now, the costumes worked. But what if they turned up again for the next election?

[1]The seventies. What a delightful decade it was. Unfortunately, this post is just a re-telling of what the history books say.

"Hi, Dawn. Can I come in?”

Dawn hadn’t expected to see Tony that night. Usually, after a gig, he liked to “party” with the band. A wildly inappropriate euphemism for an activity which usually involved hours of in-depth discussions about sound levels and guitar riffs.

Tony liked people to think of him as this tough Australian rock star, Dawn knew this wasn’t the whole truth, but she’d never expected to see him looking like this; the bedraggled little puppy everyone had been kicking.

She let him into the flat and asked “So… erm. How are you?”

Tony came in, head down, and slumped in front of the electric fire.

“It’s my dad.” Tony said. “He’s had a stroke.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” Tony’s dad lived out in Perth, on the other side of the world.

“It happened while we were on tour. They couldn’t contact us. I only heard about it tonight.”

“Is he okay?” Dawn asked, stupidly.

“He’s alive.” Tony said. “My sisters are there. Billy flew home from Brisbane.”

“How’s your mum doing?”

Tony paused a little too long. “She’s dead. She died just after I graduated.”

“Oh, Tony! I didn’t know.”

He smiled. “I don’t much like talking about it.”

“I understand, I think.”

“Look, sorry for bothering you with this” Tony said. “but… well… I didn’t feel like the party.”

“You don’t need to apologise.” Dawnie replied. She considered things. Tony could be a bit funny with emotions, he liked people to see him a certain way. “Stay here tonight, please? I have some leftover lasagna in the oven. And we can play Scrabble later… If that would help?”

“Rock and roll.” Tony replied. Which she took as a yes.

I'm digging it so far, keep it up!

Thankyou sir!

"So, I’ve been reading the proposed constitution...” Tony began.

“Really. Why?” A young party activist by the name of David asked. He seemed genuinely confused by this.

“Someone has to, I’m afraid.” Johnathan Tyler answered, and stared bleakly at his pint. It may have seemed odd, to find the party’s chairman sat in a pub talking to two new members, in a break before an important vote on the future of the party. But then, normal party conferences need to book more space than just a bit of a hotel. “What did you think of it?” He asked.

“Well…” Tony answered. “I have some questions.”

Dawn laughed. “That bad, is it?” The PEOPLE Party conference was an odd kind of holiday, but Tony seemed enthusiastic about it, which was a relief. He’d been interested in very few things since the band broke up. Maybe The Blueprint for Survival resonated well with his general pessimism about that world at that moment. But Dawn was glad that at least he was doing something about it.

“No.” Tony said quickly. “I was just wondering what form you think the regional parties will take. They’re interesting new bodies - especially when you consider that they get to appoint 13 of the 25 people in the National Council.”

John shot David a nervous glance. Unknown to Dawn and Tony, they’d had many, many debates on this point. “Well. The regional groups will mostly exist for the branches to come together and decide on a representative. We can’t have every branch represented individually. Ultimately, I think it will be up to the branches what form they take.”

Tony must have felt emboldened by this, he pressed his point. “But with so much variety in leadership styles between different branches, how can you ensure that regional organisations are democratic?”

“If their form is dictated by the National Council, how can they be democratic at all?” David countered.

This shut Tony up, for a moment if only because he obviously couldn’t quite comprehend David’s argument. “Well, what would stop a small minority of people dominating at that level?”

“Party footsoldiers like us holding the leadership to account.” David replied. Dawn thought she noticed the party chairman rolling his eyes. “If you ask me, the big problem is the three seats for elected politicians. That means that all our councillors could get elected to the National Council just by voting for themselves. But what happens when we get a fourth councillor?”

“One of the councillors will have to vote for someone other than themselves.” Johnathan said. “Or I have the casting vote as chairman. It’s perfectly normal procedure for a political party.”

“But we’re not a normal political party.” David answered.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Jonathan replied. “Sorry, but I have to set up for the next part. Nice to meet you, Tony.”

I'm aware that this timeline involves a lot of people you may not know. To alleiviate this, I'll be trying to do the ocassional post explaining who the named Characters are, and what happened to them OTL.

Tony Blair
In our timeline, Tony Blair's family moved home from Australia after three and a half years. His father stood for election as a Conservative. Tony Blair was elected Labour MP for Sedgefield in 1983. He rose to prominence as Shadow Employment Secretary under Neil Kinnock, in this role he changed Labour's policy on union closed shops. After the 1997 election he played a role in the Labour government. He left parliament in 2007.

Paul Ekins
Paul resigned from the Green Party after the "Maingreen Affair". He got his PhD, and is now a professor of Sustainable Development at the University of Westminster. He helped to found a non-profit called Forum For the Future with other exiles from the Green Party.

David Taylor
David's first political experience was trying to run as the PEOPLE Party candidate in his school election in 1974. He was told this was ridiculous, and he had to stand as a Liberal. He later served for a while as the party's principle speaker, organised Green Gathering, and organised litter picking for Glastonbury Festival. He currently runs a retreat centre and is treasurer for the Mendip Green Party.

Johnathan Tyler
Tyler also left the party over the Maingreen Affair. Though he rejoined and is now part of York Green Party. He's an academic and transport consultant, and if you are as terrifyingly boring as me, you can read some recent articles he's written about HS2.

Billy Blair, the Barrister from Brisbane
In our time line he prefers to be called the Honourable Mr. Justice Blair, or Sir William Blair. None of these titles are alliterative. Which is a pity.

BrotherSideways said:

snip

Click to expand...

I apologise for this intrusion, and I hate to give full vent to my pedantry, but I'd be genuinely grateful if you could change your headings "That Hippy, Blair", "The Camel", "2. One of those hippies" and "3. The Wrangling Begins (Wranglogenesis?)" in the posts above so that they use a consistent font/size/numbering. You've used four different combinations and it's highly distracting...

Similarly for the subheadings immediately below them. Again, apologies for being a style Nazi.

viewcode - Thanks very much for saying. I will fix this, these things are important, and I'm sorry for my lackadaisical attitude.

“We should take it seriously, I mean, it happened four times.”

“Yeah! Sorry, what did?” Paul Ekins asked. They were three pints into the evening, and Ekins felt like he’d found a kindred spirit in Tony. It was like having a cool younger friend. Except… depressingly they were probably around the same age.

Paul was a balding young academic who spent his free time learning about conservation and doing general admin for the London branch of the PEOPLE party. He did not, in the general run of things, get to hang out with rock musicians. He had no idea that they were so interested in the details of constitutional rules.

“Four people got voted onto the Council by a single vote each,” Tony explained “the three elected politicians, who only had to vote for themselves. And that Porritt guy.”

“Porritt’s a nice man.” Paul said, airily.

Jonathon Porritt had picked up one of the four National Council seats that were elected by conference attendees. He’d only got 20 votes, one more than the next candidate, and only 11 fewer than the candidate who got the most votes.

“Maybe, but… doesn’t it worry you?” Tony asked “Look at it this way - say you’re a district councillor, you get four votes. You vote once, for yourself, once for Porritt. The regional election could come down to one vote too. Even the postal ballot of all the membership could come down to just one vote - there’s four hundred party members and four seats to elect! Imagine one person having the deciding vote in four elections!”

Ekins found himself trying to work out the odds of that happening. It was not high, and even if it did, well, the world would continue, wouldn’t it? Until someone in Moscow, or Washington, or God knows where else decided to end it all, anyway.

It never helped to dwell on things like that. Though. An idea struck Paul.

“So, make difference.” Hesaid. “Help out with the admin and we can make sure people get a vote! We can make the system work. If we didn’t think that, why would we even be here?”

Tony considered this, and ordered them both another pint.

This I'm enjoying.

BrotherSideways said:

It was the first recorded use of a camel in a Suffolk general election campaign. ... Teddy Goldsmith, one of PEOPLE’s first parliamentary candidates, lead a procession of sheikhs through the village and tried to appear electable.

Click to expand...

"That can't have really happened," I thought.

It really happened. Bloody hell.

Yeah, the camel, the importance of Playboy magazine in the founding of the party. The Goldsmith family entirely. There's quite a few things in the Green Party's history that seem... not quite believable.

But, that's the case with all history.

“No, they’re not ready, you jackass! Maybe if you had told me about the policy discussion earlier, I could written it in. Sorry for not being psychic. Now I have to go do things that actually matter. Goodbye.”

Paul looked up at me from over the top of his Guardian. “You should be more polite to him, Dawn.”

Dawn threw a pencil at him. Paul raised the paper defensively, and the pencil flicked onto the floor, with everything else she’d thrown in the course of the afternoon. “I don’t see you sorting this out. Our Dear Leader changes the name of the party, gives us some nebulous shit about creating a professional image. And Tony’s fucked off. You could at least help.”

“I don’t have your artistic flair, old girl. But I assure you, I’m helping all I can. Look at all these numbers I’m crunching.” He held up exhibit a - a notepad with various prices and calculations on.

“Right,” Dawn said. The advantage of not being paid to do work is that you don’t have to be nice about your employer. But, in her secret heart of hearts, Dawn was having a good time. Things were getting better, and she was helping.

PEOPLE had become the Ecology Party. This was, unambiguously, a good thing. No more having to explain to people that no we’re not the vaguely communist sounding People’s Party. No more trying to remember what (if anything) PEOPLE was an acronym for. Instead, there was a nice clean font, a green colour scheme and… a logo, maybe? Somehow, a large amount of the party’s branding decisions seemed to have come to rest with Dawn. Her desk was filled with mock ups of newsletters.

At that moment, Tony appeared. He took a few steps into the flat, muttered “Hello, my name is Tony and I’d like to be your regional representative… no? Well, the important thing is that you vote. Thankyou, sorry. Yes.”

With that, he fell headfirst into the sofa.

Before his head hit the pillows Dawn was already reaching for the emergency cigarettes.

“Hello honey, how was your day?” She asked.

By the time he answered, Tony had a cigarette in his mouth. His smile looked more relaxed, like a proper human. “Alright, actually. I think I’ve managed to speak to all the London Ecology members it’s possible to contact. None of the other candidates have canvassed at all, so that should count for something.”

“It’s not the sort of thing people campaign for.” Paul said. “Well, you have four votes, at least. Our Dear Leader told me he’ll vote for you.”

“Porritt said that?” Tony sat up. “I’ll have to buy him a drink, next time I see him.”

“Well, your electable-ness.” Dawn said. “I need you to sort the newsletters for the next mailing.”

“It’s not sustainable, our fitting all the party business into the weekend, is it?” Paul mused. “I’m worried about running the two of you into the ground.”

Tony laughed. “Oh, it isn’t really that bad. We can manage. At least until the general election. Then we’ll all probably die of exhaustion. Especially if Porritt’s grand plan comes off.”

Paul thought about this for a second. “Well, I’ll look forward to that.”

I think I am going to enjoy this

Thanks very much, sir!

There was a lot going on at the Bow Green and Bow election announcement. The incumbent, Labour’s Ian Mikado - or Mik - to his fans, was a senior politician with a reputation for both his sense of humour and strong socialist principles. Then there was young Eric Flounders, a Liberal with a strong reputation in local government[1]. Representing the Conservatives was Robin Page; a curmudgeonly farmer who, by the vicissitudes of the Party politics, had found somehow found himself in an inner-city constituency.

Just in case the Conservative failed to offend any minorities present, the National Front had stood one of their leaders. Martin Webster was a Nazi, a former paramilitary member, a violent criminal and (it would later be discovered) a closeted homosexual. To balance things out, there was also a Bolshevik and a Trotskyist, stood at opposite corners of the room. Every so often they would glare at each other suspiciously.

Among all these local celebrities and big personalities, Tony stood alone and unnoticed between the coffee pot and the television. Every other politician had brought someone. But Paul was off inflicting himself on the returning officers, and Dawn was standing for election in the next constituency over. One in ten Ecology Party members were standing for election somewhere, as part of Porritt’s grand plan to stand over 50 candidates. That meant they were spread rather thin.

It wasn’t his first election night, he’d been to several as a boy. His father stood a couple of times for the Liberal Party, out in Perth, before finally packing that in to concentrate on the internal politics of academia. It felt good, to be following in his footsteps, although, like his father, he was unlikely to actually win.

Something caught Tony’s eye: a green badge attached to the lapel of-

“Hey, Tony.”

“Dawn! What are you doing here?” Tony asked. “When did they announce the results in Stepney? I must have missed it!”

Dawn shrugged. “I got bored, so I left.”

“You…” Tony was flabbergasted. “You just left?! What about your responsibilities?”

“I ran a good campaign and people heard about us. I didn’t want to stand around on my own with a bunch of fat boring windbags.” Dawn told him. “I’d rather stand around with you and a bunch of fat boring windbags.”

“But, your result! I can’t believe you would sacrifice being there-”

“Tony. All this,” Dawn indicated around the room. “This doesn’t matter at all. Politics is how we live every day. And, as for some reason you care about all this meaningless nonsense, right now that means being here for your moment of triumph.”

“Erm… thanks. I suppose.”

[1]Eric Flounders was short, Liberal, served as leader of his party in Tower Hamlets, and according to one comment I found, is one of the “forgotten heroes of the Liberal Party”. That’s all I know. Any information leading to the acquisition of proper biographical details about Eric Flounders would be gratefully received. This is the sort of thing that will bother me for weeks.

“Tony! Dawnie! Let me get you both a drink! What’s your poison?”

“Nothing for me just yet, thanks.” Tony said. And took one as it was offered. He smiled at Porritt. “2.8%. Good score. You beat me in percentages.”

“I heard you got a few hundred more votes than me, though.” Porritt replied, beaming with false modesty.

It was probably nice of Porritt to hold a party at his house to thank the Party’s activists and candidates in London. Probably. It was probably just an excuse to get drunk and talk politics with like-minded souls.

“I don’t see why you’re so happy.” Dawn said. “Did we get our deposit back somewhere?”

“No!” Said Porritt, beaming. “Let me pour you a whisky, my darling. I’ve opened a special bottle for the occasion.”

“Wait.” Dawnie shook her head. She didn’t deal with the finances, but Ekins was on the committee, and she’d picked up more than she cared to admit from osmosis. “So we just lost… what is it? £8000?”

“£8,700!” Porritt replied.

Dawn knew this was part of the strategy. But she was shocked at how happy Porritt looked. Like this was in itself a victory. “Fleming and Ekins have been crunching the numbers. It seems we got 43 and a half thousand votes, in total!”

“Oh, great!” Tony said. There had been very little about this on the news. All eyes were on Thatcher, at present. “Are they here tonight? I haven’t seen Fleming for a while.”

Fleming was Porritt’s main henchman. A noted economist and the party’s press officer. He was very much who Paul Ekins wanted to be when he grew up.

“You won’t be seeing Fleming or Ekins tonight!” Porritt said.

“...are they safe?” Dawn asked, “What happened? Did Thatcher eat them?”

“They’re alive and well, last I heard.” Porritt said. “Just buried in paperwork. You may not realise this, but since the campaigning began, we’ve been inundated with membership applications. Our message has got out! If our calculations are correct, we’re now the fastest growing party in Britain!”

“Isn’t our main message that we should have zero-growth?” Dawn asked.

“I… Well… the two of you evidently need drinks! Let me introduce you to some new friends...”

So, if this isn't a Green Party wank, is it going to be a Labour Party screw? Will Labour still rise to power without Tony Blair? Will the Tories hve things all to themselves through the 90'a and early 00's, will Labour still rise to power eventually, or will another party such as the Liberal Democrats grow to fill the void in the absence of New Labour?

This is shaping up towards being very, very interesting.

It’s a common problem: that committee meeting where someone brings up some innocuous motion, and two hours of heated debate later you’re still discussing it. It was the kind of thing Tony tried to avoid whenever possible. Individually, every member of the Conferences Committee was a nice enough person. The Lamberts were a sweet couple, Dorey had come to London once or twice and stayed at Tony’s flat. Paul Ekins was… well. Paul Ekins. Even David Taylor had good qualities.

But. Well. That was it. A room full of nice, reasonable individuals somehow fails to make a nice, reasonable committee. Like the whole Green Gathering debacle. David wanted to run a music festival with some people from the Ecology Party. Paul was worried that the festival would be a drain on resources. If you were bouncing ideas off between friends in a bar, it could take minutes to decide. Here, it would take hours.

The problem was, in a minuted meeting neither side was willing to admit their real thoughts on the subject. David and his cronies wanted the Green Gathering because it would be almost exclusively attended by the party’s hippies, activists, and other weirdos. It would give them a chance to organise and share strategies without the party’s rigid structures and long term plans. Paul didn’t want the festival to happen for exactly the same reasons. It was a power-play. But that’s not the sort of thing you can say.

It should be such an easy time for Ecology. The party had grown rapidly, from 600 to 7,000 members since the election. Porritt wanted the party to keep growing at that pace for a few months, so that by Autumn Conference, there’d be 30,000 members. It was… possible.

The thing was, the new members weren’t the same as the old. They were a rag-tag bunch. Moderates who were sick of the Tories and Labour, extremists looking for a vehicle to change the world, and some people who had withdrawn from the world entirely. There was a whole contingent of new members who lived in teepees in Wales. It would be fun when they started appearing in Committee meetings.

“Point of order, Mister Chairman.” David said. Tony noticed Paul add to the tally. They had a running competition. The one who could chair a meeting with the fewest points of order had to buy the other a meal at Conference.

“Yes, Mr. Taylor?” Tony said.

“We’re not here to discuss the merits of Green Gathering. We’re here to discuss where to fit the vote on it in the agenda.”

Paul cut in. “I’m sorry but no. This is a funding issue, it-”

Tony cut him off. “Sorry, Paul I think David is right about this.” He felt angry, so he continued. “My suggestion would be that we should put this on the agenda for first thing after lunch, and we’ll move Paul’s motion on setting up a central office to just before lunch. Seeing as they’re so closely related. Is that alright with you, Paul?”

“Of course, I-” Paul answered, “Wait, what?”

“You said yourself.” Tony replied. “We don’t have the resources to run Green Gathering at the moment, we’re struggling to even register all our new members. Surely, if we have an office, with a few secretaries, that problem goes away.”

Paul opened and shut his mouth. He wanted to say something like, but David and his lot will never let us have an office. They think it sounds far too professional and sensible. But again, that’s not the kind thing people say in minuted meetings.

Tony smiled at the table. “I’m sure there’s a lot of people, myself and Porritt included, would vote in favour of Green Gathering if we knew there’d be a central office to help organise things.”

Paul seemed to suddenly realise what was being suggested. “Yes.” He said. “I think I would, too.”

There was a moment of quiet. Eyes turned to David. Eventually, he said. “After lunch sounds as good a time as any.”

“Good.” Tony replied. “Then unless there are other objections, let’s move on.”