Magazine article The Spectator

Diary: Zoe Williams

Magazine article The Spectator

Diary: Zoe Williams

Article excerpt

For the 2005 general election, I had a party featuring a gigantic cheesecake with differentiated segments by allegiance. It contained no purple, which you could call leftie bias, but it genuinely didn't seem necessary. It certainly wasn't because I couldn't think of a purple fruit. The Lib Dems did badly out of that, but mainly because you should never put banana on a cheesecake; they did fine in 2010, when I represented them with lemon macaroons. No colourful theming for 2015; the stakes were too high, and I decided that it was a waste of soft fruit. Just booze and crisps and, by 10.15, depressed people; exactly like 1992, in fact, before we discovered finger food.

At 1 a.m., I went into Adam Boulton's programme on Sky News to talk results with Harry Cole. He looked preternaturally young and pretty, and caked in make-up, so that momentarily everything seemed fun and reckless, like in the musical Cabaret . Then the seismic Scottish result came in, Paisley and Renfrewshire South, Douglas Alexander beaten by Mhairi Black. After that, the SNP juggernaut would pause for no one, least of all me and Harry. We went home without appearing, and I found my Mr alone on the sofa, surrounded by Doritos. 'It's probably good that you were bumped,' he said, kindly. 'You were too drunk to go on telly.' Thank God for the SNP. Sort of.

I have never seen the school playground as depressed as it looked the next morning. My local primary is also the school nearest the Sun 's political editor, Tom Newton Dunn, who told me that he couldn't send his children there because, when he'd asked about sports, the head teacher had said, 'We don't really do sport, only half an hour of street dance.' That always seemed hilarious, until it transpired that we had five more years of a culture in which it is totally routine to denigrate state schooling for fabricated reasons. In reality, the children do far too much sport and their street dancing is pretty rudimentary. The Hungarian teaching assistant and I started crying, and a Greek friend outlined a detailed plan for an independent London. The main beef I have with bloody immigrants is that they don't have a vote.

From there, I went to Excel, to interview the owners of the world's most accomplished show-jumping rabbits. A truly gifted and, of course, trained rabbit show-jumper can clear a hurdle half a metre in height and 80cm long. …

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