8th May 2020
Conservative – 336
Labour – 212
Scottish National Party - 54
Liberal Democrats – 17
As the exhausted troops at Conservative Campaign Headquarters, searched for coffee and waited for the final results to come in, The man soon to be returned Prime Minister of the United Kingdom smiled widely. The Exit Poll gods had smiled on the Conservative Party once again. And a good solid majority too, enough to keep the 1922 Committee happy at least. Farron had done well, returning the Liberal Democrats to double digits, though most commentators had agreed that this was mostly at the expense of Labour, with Norfolk South and Bristol West both returning back to the Liberal column. They had made some gains from the Tories and the SNP though, reclaiming Cheltenham and Ross, Skye and Lochaber.
Settling back in his chair and reaching for his own coffee cup, he let out a long held breath. He had never thought he would reach this point, had believed that his career had reached its apex. But then fate was a peculiar mistress at the best of times. Still it had to be one of the most unbelievable elections in the history of the Conservative Party.
Cameron has resigned in 2018, like he had promised he would, and while eyes had initially drifted towards Osborne, his reputation had been burned by the failure of the Hinckley Point C deal, and had yet to recover. As the boys and girls from Fleet Street had begun casting aspersions, Boris had been considered, the pundits arguing his popularity would negate the – what were the youngsters calling it these days – oh yes, the CorBoom. But before that had even got off the ground, Graham Brady had called them in for a meeting. He had argued that while Boris was popular he didn’t hold have enough front bench experience, something that they could use against Corbyn in debates. And that, Brady had revealed turning to him, and smiling wanly was why he had called him in. They didn’t agree on much, but he was popular outside the party, had the front bench experience and the gravitas to match Corbyn. Boris had looked a little crestfallen, but had been easily placated with an offer of Chancellor.
(Reaching for a scrap of paper, he scribbled a quick note to himself. He would need to find something for the lad Brady, as a reward. Leader of the House maybe. Keep him in touch with the Backbenches).
The Eurosceptics hadn’t been happy. But the results of the EU referendum (60 - 40 in favour of staying in) had turned even his biggest flaw into a moot point. So began two years of touring up and down the country, selling a Compassionate Conservative Brand. Thatcherism had been all well and good, but it had taken them as far as it could go. They needed to persuade people to trust them again. Come the debates he had run rings around Corbyn, taking pot shots not just at his lack of experience but the Cold War that had been ongoing issue within the Labour Party. “If he can’t even inspire trust in his own MPs, why should the country trust him” had been one of his better sound bites.
And now it had all payed off.
A phone had been ringing somewhere, and now he could hear footsteps make their way up the corridor. An aide – Charlotte, or Catherine, or something like that – knocked politely before walking in. “The palace were just on the phone. They were wondering if you might be available at two o’clock.
“I think I might be able to make that” he said pulling himself out of his chair.
The aide left and he walked over to the window. Staring out across London, Ken Clarke allowed himself one long, deep glorious laugh.
It felt good to be King.
Conservative – 336
Labour – 212
Scottish National Party - 54
Liberal Democrats – 17
As the exhausted troops at Conservative Campaign Headquarters, searched for coffee and waited for the final results to come in, The man soon to be returned Prime Minister of the United Kingdom smiled widely. The Exit Poll gods had smiled on the Conservative Party once again. And a good solid majority too, enough to keep the 1922 Committee happy at least. Farron had done well, returning the Liberal Democrats to double digits, though most commentators had agreed that this was mostly at the expense of Labour, with Norfolk South and Bristol West both returning back to the Liberal column. They had made some gains from the Tories and the SNP though, reclaiming Cheltenham and Ross, Skye and Lochaber.
Settling back in his chair and reaching for his own coffee cup, he let out a long held breath. He had never thought he would reach this point, had believed that his career had reached its apex. But then fate was a peculiar mistress at the best of times. Still it had to be one of the most unbelievable elections in the history of the Conservative Party.
Cameron has resigned in 2018, like he had promised he would, and while eyes had initially drifted towards Osborne, his reputation had been burned by the failure of the Hinckley Point C deal, and had yet to recover. As the boys and girls from Fleet Street had begun casting aspersions, Boris had been considered, the pundits arguing his popularity would negate the – what were the youngsters calling it these days – oh yes, the CorBoom. But before that had even got off the ground, Graham Brady had called them in for a meeting. He had argued that while Boris was popular he didn’t hold have enough front bench experience, something that they could use against Corbyn in debates. And that, Brady had revealed turning to him, and smiling wanly was why he had called him in. They didn’t agree on much, but he was popular outside the party, had the front bench experience and the gravitas to match Corbyn. Boris had looked a little crestfallen, but had been easily placated with an offer of Chancellor.
(Reaching for a scrap of paper, he scribbled a quick note to himself. He would need to find something for the lad Brady, as a reward. Leader of the House maybe. Keep him in touch with the Backbenches).
The Eurosceptics hadn’t been happy. But the results of the EU referendum (60 - 40 in favour of staying in) had turned even his biggest flaw into a moot point. So began two years of touring up and down the country, selling a Compassionate Conservative Brand. Thatcherism had been all well and good, but it had taken them as far as it could go. They needed to persuade people to trust them again. Come the debates he had run rings around Corbyn, taking pot shots not just at his lack of experience but the Cold War that had been ongoing issue within the Labour Party. “If he can’t even inspire trust in his own MPs, why should the country trust him” had been one of his better sound bites.
And now it had all payed off.
A phone had been ringing somewhere, and now he could hear footsteps make their way up the corridor. An aide – Charlotte, or Catherine, or something like that – knocked politely before walking in. “The palace were just on the phone. They were wondering if you might be available at two o’clock.
“I think I might be able to make that” he said pulling himself out of his chair.
The aide left and he walked over to the window. Staring out across London, Ken Clarke allowed himself one long, deep glorious laugh.
It felt good to be King.
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