The Day I met Jeremy Corbyn for the first time -
At the Labour Party welcome event in Westminster palace - July 13 2015 - at first I had no one to talk to. I felt slightly alienated but had two glasses of wine in a row, taking the edge off this angst. 'What should I do?' I thought. 'Talk to a total stranger? But I've stopped talking to strangers. It can end up badly I find, when we do that... but anyway at least the strangers met in this context are not the same as the loners you could randomly meet in the West End, or via some internet date, some of them probably narcissists, I reflected, thinking, I should stop being so reticent... And as time went on, and the wine induced haze began to clear, I saw that the strangers were benign, yet still I was tearful, maybe the vin blanc...
Eventually a married couple came over. We had been on the guided tour together, the last to arrive. We had been through security at the same time, a process involving a through frisking from a uniformed female, and anyway, having passed through scanners and such, which put me in something like holiday mode, I was greeted then by a rather pleasant young male with dark hair, smart suit and crimson tie who works with the shadow chancellor and felt quite transported for a while, into the paintings of Tudors, the mosaics of the patron saints. My attention diverted from all my other concerns.
We were then led into a room looking down on a courtyard with a few bottles of wine and some crisps set out on a long table at against the back wall. There was a brief welcome speech.
The problems set in with the wine.
The problems set in with the wine.
I had been to see an author I know, in the morning... On leaving his home, in West London, I decided to walk all the way back to Drury Lane, taking a route through Holland Park, Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park, and St James' Park. I forgot about eating entirely. I had a Mars Bar and that's all I had all day. And three crisps at the event. Imagine three glasses of wine on this little amount...
The Pinot Grigio rushed to my head - and soon I had reached the room-spinning kind of a stage. To be honest I felt a bit like I'd gone to another world, through some kind of a portal. Conversations took place in small groups and although usually socially confident, I did not know how to join them that day, and felt a kind of tearful episode approach. After a few minutes of such anxious tearfulness however, a married couple came over and the wife brought me water whilst I talked to the husband, hoping that was acceptable whilst she was bringing me the drink. I cannot remember exactly what we discussed but I think it was on the lines of how far the vulnerable and young people are suffering under the Tories. As they were leaving they introduced me to the MP for Muswell Hill. I suppose they were looking to off-load their 'charge' come to think of it... We were talking anyway about a 'narrative' for the party. A vision. But I cannot remember the details. What I do recall is an attractive man appearing at my side and joining the conversation. A barrister.
The event then began to wind down. I turned to the man and said, quite forwardly for one who doesn't talk to strangers, 'Look, I'm really quite lost, if you're leaving could I umm kind of follow you out?' He said, 'Yes, of course,' and, my faith in chivalry somewhat restored, we walked along, out to the paved walkways and into a kind of courtyard.
And then Theo, the barrister, not his real name, just happened to catch sight of Jeremy Corbyn and said, 'Oh my God, I just saw my hero, Jeremy Corbyn. I have to talk to him. He is totally my hero.' And with Corbyn somehow crossing our path and Theo subtly intercepting the man I found myself propelled, suddenly, into an unexpected conversation, Theo all the while at my side. And the very man I had found anathema before is now in the ascendent because he was pleasant and fielded my questions despite all the white wine, visible, I'm think, in my demeanour. Although, admittedly the bright red skirt I was wearing, would have been the more striking aspect of the look. At any rate, I wasn't reserved, and in the space of five minutes before handing the baton to Theo, he and I, rapidly metamorphosing, so it seemed (in my wine-rinsed mind), into some kind of glamorous power couple, his well-dressed serious attitude, my advantage in the sense of distraction I think from my drink-glazed appearance, (whereas I to him would be a negative perhaps, following this reasoning), I managed to mention being a branch secretary; the Marxism 2015 conference which I had recently attended, and Mariana Mazzucato, the Sussex university economist I had met at the last constituency meeting. Mazzucato was a guest lecturer.
Corbyn asked which branch I belonged to as secretary? 'Holborn-Covent Garden,' I replied. 'And I'm helping to arrange the Barbecue we're having at the weekend at Phoenix Garden in the area.' He asked about the lectures I attended. A lecture by Alex Callinicos, Professor at Kings College London on 'The Revolutionary ideas of Karl Marx.' And 'Mental Illness: A Disorder of Capitalism.' How relieved I felt that S. a friend of mine since school days, had invited me to that festival, and happy we had made that extra effort to fit in the one on Marx after lunch out in Bloomsbury, because if not I would have stayed silent I think, feeling out of my depth if faced with an actual candidate without relevant background knowledge. Not that I am saying he is a Marxist, because I don't think this is necessarily the case: it is perhaps ill-advised to look back to the past, too much, for definitions, but I felt happy, in the context, with my recent effort to fill in the 'Marx' gap in my political education. Marx before had been linked in my mind with Soviet History and school text books, but I had learned at the lecture with the professor that there had been more to it. Marx, said the professor, was inspired by the French revolution and his ideas are still relevant to workers, and unions today. And whilst he seemed to fall out of fashion, said the academic, he is due for a reappraisal. I had taken this in with some interest. Anyway, having talked with Jeremy Corbyn for quite a while, emphasising that yes, I felt that the country needed a vision of hope, and that young people specifically needed more to look forward to than the present government could offer, the likelihood of a prosperous future somewhere desecrated for many, I then saw fit to stay quiet and let Theo put his questions to the MP, thinking, Corbyn - what a surprisingly affable, down to earth man. And I began to think, yes, the Left needs a Left.... the left of the Left at least as a kind of benchmark, which reveals, by contrast, just how far the Tories are willing to go.
After a few minutes, Corbyn had to leave; he was showing some people around, architects I think. And somewhat buoyed on that chance event, the barrister and I made out way out. He entered the wide mouth of the tube station right by Parliament, and asked me if I was taking the Victoria line, but I said I would walk through the park. I did manage to make it home after a walk where everything seemed to be swaying around, the water in the park like a shimmer of dark, shot silk, the flowers brighter than usual. I'm not really sure how I made it home. I remember the route as far as Piccadilly Circus but not the rest... But anyway, I did make it home, obviously, as I am seated now on a rather untidy settee, writing, thinking, almost daylight of a new day and still a little drunk on white wine.
So... last night turned good in the end, and that's partly because I met Jeremy Corbyn, the first of the candidates I've met. Interesting how he was anathema to me at the weekend and I even wrote that on a Facebook post... 'Corbyn is anathema, and I hear the unions are backing him,' as though it was all so bad I must faint and have smelling salts administered to bring me round. Yes, that's what I said and thought. But you know what, this meant that I had noticed him - just as Corbyn will have noticed me, doubtless, in my bright red skirt. Not my socialist skirt honestly. Just a skirt. But red all the same... And as it happened I had done my 'homework' at the Marxism 2015 event, not realising that three days later I would talk to one of the only bona fide left wingers in the whole, entire country. I do get just a bit starstruck on both famous authors and politicians, by the way. Anyway, Corbyn is fairing well for his age, and to be honest looks different and more attractive in reality; something transparent, honest about his rather blue eyes. Corbyn makes me think of a relic of a kind, like a piece of wood chipped off a crucifix or a garment that Jesus may well have touched. In his presence you feel you're encountering a holy man; is this why he is not always liked - there are those who feel that they cannot match up with that integrity? The ability to speak your mind, to stand firm in the face of differing opinions, true to interior, well worked on ideas, rather than weather vane approach, spinning which ever way the fashions seem to blow.
Theo...
I think I will email Theo the barrister today, whilst I'm fresh in his mind. He came to my rescue yesterday and I can't forget that. I felt cheered by his conversation, the way he took command of the situation as we wandered out towards the tube and went separate ways..."
My diary, by the way, has moved into a new sequence - 'My Real Life Diary' - also written on-line. I felt quite bewildered by politics for a while and just felt I should keep a track of ordinary, everyday life. Now there is a leader perhaps a more settled phase approaches.
I have sent a message of congratulations to Jeremy Corbyn, although I don't wish to say here how I voted, if at all.
A message to Theo (not his real name), I think is also in order. We haven't been in contact since that event, but I have his email address.
No comments:
Post a Comment