Tory Party Quotes

No amount of cajolery, and no attempts at ethical or social seduction, can eradicate from my heart a deep burning hatred for the Tory Party. So far as I am concerned they are lower than vermin.

That is why no amount of cajolery, and no attempts at ethical or social seduction, can eradicate from my heart a deep burning hatred for the Tory Party that inflicted those bitter experiences on me. So far as I am concerned they are lower than vermin. They condemned millions of first-class people to semi-starvation. Now the Tories are pouring out money in propaganda of all sorts and are hoping by this organised sustained mass suggestion to eradicate from our minds all memory of what we went through. But, I warn you young men and women, do not listen to what they are saying now. Do not listen to the seductions of Lord Woolton. He is a very good salesman. If you are selling shoddy stuff you have to be a good salesman. But I warn you they have not changed, or if they have they are slightly worse than they were.

The Lib Dems found it very hard to decide whether they were Labour or Tory supporters, mostly because they're Lib Dem supporters. I mean had most of them agreed with one of the major parties they would probably have applied to join those parties instead of standing at the back of town halls looking disappointed.

No passion is stronger in the breast of man than the desire to make others believe as he believes... ....Tories, Liberal Party and Labour Party for what do they battle except their own prestige - No passion is stronger in the breast of man than the desire to make others believe as he believes....Tories, Liberal Party and Labour Party for what do they battle except their own prestige

There are six canons of conservative thought: 1) Belief in a transcendent order, or body of natural law, which rules society as well as conscience. Political problems, at bottom, are religious and moral problems. A narrow rationality, what Coleridge called the Understanding, cannot of itself satisfy human needs. "Every Tory is a realist," says Keith Feiling: "he knows that there are great forces in heaven and earth that man's philosophy cannot plumb or fathom." True politics is the art of apprehending and applying the Justice which ought to prevail in a community of souls. 2) Affection for the proliferating variety and mystery of human existence, as opposed to the narrowing uniformity, egalitarianism, and utilitarian aims of most radical systems; conservatives resist what Robert Graves calls "Logicalism" in society. This prejudice has been called "the conservatism of enjoyment"--a sense that life is worth living, according to Walter Bagehot "the proper source of an animated Conservatism." 3) Conviction that civilized society requires orders and classes, as against the notion of a "classless society." With reason, conservatives have been called "the party of order." If natural distinctions are effaced among men, oligarchs fill the vacuum. Ultimate equality in the judgment of God, and equality before courts of law, are recognized by conservatives; but equality of condition, they think, means equality in servitude and boredom. 4) Persuasion that freedom and property are closely linked: separate property from private possession, and Leviathan becomes master of all. Economic levelling, they maintain, is not economic progress. 5) Faith in prescription and distrust of "sophisters, calculators, and economists" who would reconstruct society upon abstract designs. Custom, convention, and old prescription are checks both upon man's anarchic impulse and upon the innovator's lust for power. 6) Recognition that change may not be salutary reform: hasty innovation may be a devouring conflagration, rather than a torch of progress. Society must alter, for prudent change is the means of social preservation; but a statesman must take Providence into his calculations, and a statesman's chief virtue, according to Plato and Burke, is prudence.

Besides, if his party stood for anything, it was for defending the right of the strong to flourish, which meant preventing the weak from taking up unnecessary space.

These days, of course, the old dowager names are all the rage; even stalwarts of the Tory party call their children Florence and Alfred with a knowing wink.

Go back to your tea party, little girl. The adults have business to discuss,” he growled dismissively. Tory decided to show her displeasure at his words by unleashing unrequited hell.

Her decision to do so – when she had a working majority in Parliament – was not pure vanity. It was the inevitable result of the völkisch rhetoric she had adopted when she told her first Tory Party conference as leader that ‘if you believe you’re a citizen of the world, you’re a citizen of nowhere’, openly evoking the far-right (and Stalinist) trope of ‘rootless cosmopolitans’ who did not deserve citizenship.

The division of members into Tories or Whigs had by 1761 lost nearly all significance; the real division was between supporters and opponents of the current “government,” or ministry, or of the king. By and large the Tories protected the landed interest; the Whigs were willing now and then to consider the desires of the business class; otherwise both Tories and Whigs were equally conservative. Neither party legislated for the benefit of the masses.

My own walls caved. Tears trickled from the corner of my eyes. Then strong arms enveloped me. “Don’t cry.” Ben’s hot breath on my cheek. “We’ll find her. And the twins. I promise.” “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I hiccupped. “People always do that.” “I mean it.” Firmly spoken. “I won’t let us fail. Not at this.” The sobs broke free. I burrowed into Ben’s chest, letting everything go. I cried and cried and cried, unthinking, releasing a week’s worth of pent-up emotion in a few hot seconds. Ben held me, silent, softly rubbing my back. A thought floated from somewhere far away. This isn’t so bad. I pushed away, gently breaking Ben’s embrace. Looked into his eyes. His face was a whisper from mine. I thought of Ben’s confession during the hurricane. How he’d wanted to be more than just packmates. Emotions swirled in my chest, making me dizzy. Off balance. “Ben . . . I . . .” “Tory?” My father’s voice sent us flying apart as if electroshocked. Kit was descending the steps, an odd look on his face. “Yes?” Discreetly wiping away tears. I saw a thousand questions fill Kitt’s eyes, but, thankfully, he kept them shelved. “I hate to do this, kiddo, but Whitney’s party starts in an hour. She’s trying to be patient, but, frankly, that isn’t her strong suit.” “No. Right.” I stood, smoothing clothes and hair. “Mustn’t keep the Duchess waiting.” Kit frowned. “Say the word, and we cancel right now. No question.” “No, sorry. I was just being flip. It’s really fine.” Forced smile. “Might be just the thing.” “All right, then. We need to get moving.” Kit glanced at Ben, still sitting on the bench, striving for invisible. A smile quirked my father’s lips. “And you, Mr. Blue? Ready for a good ol’-fashioned backyard barbeque? My daughter will be there.” Ben’s uneasy smile was his only response.

"We're your official search party," Tori said. Complete with bloodhound." She waved at Derek, who was brushing off his jeans. "I left a note," I said to Derek. "I told you whee I was going and what was doing." "He got it," Simon said. "Didn't matter." Derek glowered. "You think leaving a note makes it okay to do something—" "Don't say stupid," I warned. "Why not? It was stupid." Simon winced and murmured, "Ease off, bro." "That's okay," I said. "I'm used to it." I looked up at Derek. He wavered for a second, then crossed his arms, jaw setting. "It was stupid," he said. Risky and dangerous. Those guys could be out here with guns—"

When the clowns of British politics - arch-Brexiteer cartoon characters 'Boorish Johnson' and 'JackOff Grease-Smug' advocate ad infinitum that Britain should leave the EU in order to be free to sign her own trade deals; they seem to have overlooked the towering elephant in the room, namely the current occupant of the White House (another clown) - who appears hell-bent on destabilising world trade via crude protectionist policies. Both Tories, despite receiving the best British education money can buy, would do well to revisit their post war history books and be reminded of one of the key objectives of the European Project and in due course the European Union - specifically to promote peace and prosperity amongst previously warring neighbours by forming a unified trading bloc which in time, due to its effective size, also acted as a useful counterweight to US hegemony. Go find another circus for your buffoonery and leave the deadly serious business of politics to principled individuals with the true national interest at heart !

There are two primary strains in the Conservative Party: grocers, and grandees. … By ‘grandees’ and ‘grocers’, I am not referring to social class or any of that; nor do I refer to the Worshipful Company of Grocers, all cloves and camels. I refer rather to two fundamental positions within the Conservative Party, regardless of one’s antecedents. … A grandee Conservative sees the country as a village: a village of which he and his party, when in government, act the Squire. As the Squire, the grandee moves jovially amongst his tenants in their tied cottages, dispensing largesse and reproof…. There are two problems with this model. The first is that HMG is not the Squire and the subjects of the Crown are not the smocked tenantry of the government of the day. The second is that these principles – or instincts, as one can hardly call them principles – however different they may be to the fiercely held maxims of Labour old and new, lead in the end to the same statist solutions as those the Left proposes, and to accepting and ‘managing’ statism when a Conservative government succeeds a Labour one. It is the grocers who will always and rightly attempt to roll back the State and its reach in favour of liberty.

She was the first close friend who I felt like I’d re­ally cho­sen. We weren’t in each other’s lives be­cause of any obli­ga­tion to the past or con­ve­nience of the present. We had no shared his­tory and we had no rea­son to spend all our time to­ gether. But we did. Our friend­ship in­ten­si­fied as all our friends had chil­dren – she, like me, was un­con­vinced about hav­ing kids. And she, like me, found her­self in a re­la­tion­ship in her early thir­ties where they weren’t specif­i­cally work­ing to­wards start­ing a fam­ily. By the time I was thirty-four, Sarah was my only good friend who hadn’t had a baby. Ev­ery time there was an­other preg­nancy an­nounce­ment from a friend, I’d just text the words ‘And an­other one!’ and she’d know what I meant. She be­came the per­son I spent most of my free time with other than Andy, be­cause she was the only friend who had any free time. She could meet me for a drink with­out plan­ning it a month in ad­vance. Our friend­ship made me feel lib­er­ated as well as safe. I looked at her life choices with no sym­pa­thy or con­cern for her. If I could ad­mire her de­ci­sion to re­main child-free, I felt en­cour­aged to ad­mire my own. She made me feel nor­mal. As long as I had our friend­ship, I wasn’t alone and I had rea­son to be­lieve I was on the right track. We ar­ranged to meet for din­ner in Soho af­ter work on a Fri­day. The waiter took our drinks or­der and I asked for our usual – two Dirty Vodka Mar­ti­nis. ‘Er, not for me,’ she said. ‘A sparkling wa­ter, thank you.’ I was ready to make a joke about her un­char­ac­ter­is­tic ab­sti­nence, which she sensed, so as soon as the waiter left she said: ‘I’m preg­nant.’ I didn’t know what to say. I can’t imag­ine the ex­pres­sion on my face was par­tic­u­larly en­thu­si­as­tic, but I couldn’t help it – I was shocked and felt an un­war­ranted but in­tense sense of be­trayal. In a de­layed re­ac­tion, I stood up and went to her side of the ta­ble to hug her, un­able to find words of con­grat­u­la­tions. I asked what had made her change her mind and she spoke in va­garies about it ‘just be­ing the right time’ and wouldn’t elab­o­rate any fur­ther and give me an an­swer. And I needed an an­swer. I needed an an­swer more than any­thing that night. I needed to know whether she’d had a re­al­iza­tion that I hadn’t and, if so, I wanted to know how to get it. When I woke up the next day, I re­al­ized the feel­ing I was ex­pe­ri­enc­ing was not anger or jeal­ousy or bit­ter­ness – it was grief. I had no one left. They’d all gone. Of course, they hadn’t re­ally gone, they were still my friends and I still loved them. But huge parts of them had dis­ap­peared and there was noth­ing they could do to change that. Un­less I joined them in their spa­ces, on their sched­ules, with their fam­i­lies, I would barely see them. And I started dream­ing of an­other life, one com­pletely re­moved from all of it. No more chil­dren’s birth­day par­ties, no more chris­ten­ings, no more bar­be­cues in the sub­urbs. A life I hadn’t ever se­ri­ously con­tem­plated be­fore. I started dream­ing of what it would be like to start all over again. Be­cause as long as I was here in the only Lon­don I knew – mid­dle-class Lon­don, cor­po­rate Lon­don, mid-thir­ties Lon­don, mar­ried Lon­don – I was in their world. And I knew there was a whole other world out there.

The problem with political ideologues such as arch Brexiteer Jacob Rees-Mogg (a.k.a. JackOff Grease-Smug) is that they are totally divorced from reality with heads stuck firmly in the clouds. Add to that the priggish and rarefied demeanour of this particular outlandishly pompous ass and you end up with a complete disconnect with the way things actually work. Pragmatism and consensus articulated by compassionate people who live in the real world and with feet firmly on the ground must win the day with Britain's economic interests foremost in mind. Get on your Penny Farthing Jacob and start peddling fast. You are a tiresome irrelevance better consigned to a museum for musty relics.

I hear that there are plans afoot to produce a remake of Hans Christian Andersen's classic - 'The Emperor's New Clothes'. Who better to star in the leading role than recently defrocked Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson ? A narcissist with such naked ambition; an opportunist with such threadbare morals; a disgraced politician with such thinly veiled contempt for the British electorate, and judging by the sycophantic praise they heap on each other, arguably cut from the very same cloth as Donald Trump. Despite laughable pretensions of having the stature and fortitude of a modern day Churchill, he cuts a now lonely figure, a mere insignificant shadow. Boris, you can't hide anymore. Your warts and all are exposed for the whole world to see.

The Restoration did not so much restore as replace. In restoring the monarchy with King Charles II, it replaced Cromwell's Commonwealth and its Puritan ethos with an almost powerless monarch whose tastes had been formed in France. It replaced the power of the monarchy with the power of a parliamentary system - which was to develop into the two parties, Whigs and Tories - with most of the executive power in the hands of the Prime Minister. Both parties benefited from a system which encouraged social stability rather than opposition. Above all, in systems of thought, the Restoration replaced the probing, exploring, risk-taking intellectual values of the Renaissance. It relied on reason and on facts rather than on speculation. So, in the decades between 1660 and 1700, the basis was set for the growth of a new kind of society. This society was Protestant (apart from the brief reign of the Catholic King James II, 1685-88), middle class, and unthreatened by any repetition of the huge and traumatic upheavals of the first part of the seventeenth century. It is symptomatic that the overthrow of James II in 1688 was called The 'Glorious' or 'Bloodless' Revolution. The 'fever in the blood' which the Renaissance had allowed was now to be contained, subject to reason, and kept under control. With only the brief outburst of Jacobin revolutionary sentiment at the time of the Romantic poets, this was to be the political context in the United Kingdom for two centuries or more. In this context, the concentration of society was on commerce, on respectability, and on institutions. The 'genius of the nation' led to the founding of the Royal Society in 1662 - 'for the improving of Natural Knowledge'. The Royal Society represents the trend towards the institutionalisation of scientific investigation and research in this period. The other highly significant institution, one which was to have considerably more importance in the future, was the Bank of England, founded in 1694.

If you want to know the real reasons why certain politicians vote the way they do - follow the money. Arch Brexiteer Jacob Rees-Mogg (a.k.a. JackOff Grease-Smug) stands to make billions via his investment firm - Somerset Capital Management - if the UK crashes unceremoniously out of the European Union without a secure future trade deal. Why ? Because proposed EU regulations will give enforcement agencies greater powers to curb the activities adopted by the sort of off-shore tax havens his company employs. Consequently the British electorate get swindled not once, but twice. Firstly because any sort of Brexit - whether hard, soft, or half-baked - will make every man, woman and child in the UK that much poorer than under the status quo currently enjoyed as a fully paid up member of the EU. Secondly because Rees-Mogg's company, if not brought to heel by appropriate EU wide legislation, will deprive Her Majesty's Treasury of millions in taxes, thus leading to more onerous taxes for the rest of us. It begs the question, who else in the obscure but influential European Research Group (ERG) that he chairs and the Institute for Economic Affairs (IEA) that he subscribes to, have similar vested interests in a no-deal Brexit ? It is high time for infinitely greater parliamentary and public scrutiny into the UK Register of Members' Financial Interests in order to put an end to these nefarious dealings and appalling double standards in public life which only serve to further corrode public trust in an already fragile democracy.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl ditch Darius like that,” an amused voice came from behind me and I turned to find a guy looking at me from a seat at a table in the corner. He had dark hair that curled in a messy kind of way, looking like it had broken free of his attempts to tame it. His green eyes sparkled with restrained laughter and I couldn’t help but stare at his strong features; he looked almost familiar but I was sure I’d never met him before. “Well, even Dragons can’t just get their own way all of the time,” I said, moving closer to him. Apparently that had been the right thing to say because he smiled widely in response to it. “What’s so great about Dragons anyway, right?” he asked, though a strange tightness came over his posture as he said it. “Who’d want to be a big old lizard with anger management issues?” I joked. “I think I’d rather be a rabbit shifter - at least bunnies are cute.” “You don’t have a very rabbity aura about you,” he replied with a smile which lit up his face. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.” “It is. Although a rabbit might be exactly the kind of ruler we need; shake it up from all these predators.” “Maybe that’s why I can’t get on board with this fancy food. It’s just not meant for someone of my Order... although I’m really looking for a sandwich rather than a carrot,” I said wistfully. He snorted a laugh. “Yeah I had a pizza before I came to join the festivities. I’m only supposed to stay for an hour or so anyway... show my face, sit in the back, avoid emotional triggers...” He didn’t seem to want to elaborate on that weird statement so I didn’t push him but I did wonder why he’d come if that was all he was going to do. “Well, I didn’t really want to come at all so maybe I can just hide out back here with you?” I finished the rest of my drink and placed my glass on the table as I drifted closer to him. Aside from Hamish, he was the first person I’d met at this party who seemed at least halfway genuine. “Sure. If you don’t mind missing out on all the fun,” he said. “I’m sorry but am I talking to Roxanya or Gwendalina? You’re a little hard to tell apart.” I rolled my eyes at those stupid names. “I believe I originally went by Roxanya but my name is Tory.” “You haven’t taken back your royal name?” he asked in surprise. “I haven’t taken back my royal anything. Though I won’t say no to the money when it comes time to inherit that. You didn’t give me your name either,” I prompted. You don’t know?” he asked in surprise. “Oh sorry, dude, are you famous? Must be a bummer to meet someone who isn’t a fan then,” I teased. He snorted a laugh. “I’m Xavier,” he said. “The Dragon’s younger brother.” “Oh,” I said. Well that was a quick end to what had seemed like a pleasant conversation. “Actually... I should probably go... mingle or something.” I started to back away, searching the crowd for Darcy. I spotted her on the far side of the room, engaged in conversation with Hamish and a few of his friends. The smile on her face was genuine enough so I was at least confident she didn’t need rescuing. (Tory)

In all these battles the Labour right has enormous reserves of political power. The Parliamentary Labour Party is overwhelmingly hostile to Jeremy Corbyn. Of the 232 Labour MPs no more than 20 can be relied on to back him. Back bench revolts, leaks, and public attacks by MPs opposed to the leadership are likely to be frequent. Some Labour left wingers hope that the patronage that comes with the leader’s position will appeal to the careerism of the right and centre MPs to provide Jeremy with the support he lacks. No doubt this will have some effect, but it will be limited. For a start it’s a mistake to think that all right wingers are venal. Some are. But some believe in their ideas as sincerely as left wingers believe in theirs. More importantly, the leading figures of the Labour right should not be seen as simply part of the Labour movement. They are also, and this is where their loyalty lies, embedded in the British political establishment. Commentators often talk as if the sociological dividing line in British politics lies between the establishment (the heads of corporations, military, police, civil service, the media, Tory and Liberal parties, etc, etc) on the one hand, and the Labour Party as a whole, the unions and the left on the other. But this is not the case. The dividing line actually runs through the middle of the Labour Party, between its right wing leaders and the left and the bulk of the working class members. From Ramsey MacDonald (who started on the left of the party) splitting Labour and joining the Tory government in 1931, to the Labour ‘Gang of Four’ splitting the party to form the SDP in 1981, to Neil Kinnock’s refusal to support the 1984-85 Miners Strike, to Blair and Mandelson’s neo-conservative foreign policy and neoliberal economic policy, the main figures of the Labour right have always put their establishment loyalties first and their Labour Party membership second. They do not need Jeremy Corbyn to prefer Cabinet places on them because they will be rewarded with company directorships and places in the Lords by the establishment. Corbyn is seen as a threat to the establishment and the Labour right will react, as they have always done, to eliminate this threat. And because the Labour right are part of the establishment they will not be acting alone. Even if they were a minority in the PLP, as the SDP founders were, their power would be enormously amplified by the rest of the establishment. In fact the Labour right today is much more powerful than the SDP, and so the amplified dissonance from the right will be even greater. This is why the argument that a Corbyn leadership must compromise with the right in the name of unity is so mistaken. The Labour right are only interested in unity on their terms. If they can’t get it they will fight until they win. If they can’t win they would rather split the party than unite with the left on the left’s terms. When Leon Trotsky analysed the defeat of the 1926 General Strike it was the operation of this kind of ‘unity’ which he saw as critical in giving the right the ability to disorganise the left. The collapse of the strike came, argued Trotsky, when the government put pressure on the right wing of the Labour movement, who put pressure on the left wing of the movement, who put pressure on the Minority Movement (an alliance of the Labour left and the Communist Party). And the Minority Movement put pressure on the CP…and thus the whole movement collapsed. To this day this is the way in which the establishment transmits pressure through the labour movement. The only effective antidote is political and organisational independence on the far left so that it is capable of mobilising beyond the ranks of the Labour Party and trade union bureaucracy. This then provides a counter-power pushing in the opposite direction that can be more powerful than the pressure from the right.

In a RECESSION or slow-down, this makes economic conditions worse. If governments, businesses and households all have too much debt, and all set about repaying their debts at the same time, it’s an economic disaster. That’s why David Cameron had to backtrack on a speech he was planning to make to the Tory party conference in 2011: ‘The only way out of a debt crisis is to deal with your debts. That means households – all of us – paying off the credit-card and store-card bills.’ It was pointed out that this was a genius formula for making the recession worse, so he had, very embarrassingly, to withdraw the lines from his speech.

Later in the evening, Michael spoke highly of Denis Healey’s efforts to maintain party unity during Michael’s brief tenure as leader. Denis had as much love for the party as he did, Michael emphasised and Healey even went out of his way after the 1983 defeat to say that Michael should not be saddled with all the blame.Healey and Michael certainly had their differences, but they worked well together, agreeing to approach Brezhnev and broker a deal that would ease tensions concerning the Cruise missiles in Britain and in other parts of Europe. Michael and Denis were concerned about an escalating Russian response. How to stop this super power competition? “We were protesting about it,” Michael said. “We talked to Brezhnev. We said, ‘What about a zero option? To have no new Cruise missiles on either side of Europe?’” The Tory government claimed the Russians rebuffed Foot and Healey and that “we’d made fools of ourselves,” Michael said. Douglas Hurd in the Foreign Office ridiculed the zero option proposal. “Two weeks later, Reagan came out and used the exact phrase, ‘Why not a zero option?’ The Foreign Office then changed its tune. We had a quite sensible foreign policy,” Michael added, “and we were treated as innocents who did not know what was happening in the bloody world.

Second only to the royals in Michael’s gallery of good-for-nothings were, of course, the Tories. John Major occupied a special page in Michael’s book of bad ones. The trouble began when Suraj Paul, a staunch Labour Party backer and friend to Michael, invited him to the festivities celebrating his twenty-five years of doing business in Britain. Lord Paul had built a factory in Michael’s constituency and another one in John Major’s. A fortnight before the grand event, Lord Paul rang up Michael to say he had encountered a “terrible difficulty. I hate what I’m doing, but I’ve got to. I have to say to you that Major [then Prime Minister] had said that if you’re coming to the ceremony, he won’t come.” Michael was flabbergasted: “I hadn’t any great antagonism with Major or anything of the sort.” Of course, Michael relieved Lord Paul of his problem by not attending the event. “I’ve never told anyone. Nobody’s put it into print. But I see no reason why it shouldn’t go into the book. The pettiest thing I’ve ever heard of. Naturally I don’t think much of him on that account.

But no parties could live under such labels as Petitioners and Abhorrers. Instead of naming themselves they named each other. The term “Whig” had described a sour, bigoted, canting, money-grubbing Scots Presbyterian. Irish Papist bandits ravaging estates and manor-houses had been called “Tories.” Neither

As any parrot owner will tell you, pet birds can give serious bites. The nut-cracking beak of the African gray parrot, for example, can sever fingers. In 1998, the Labour Party’s John Prescott, deputy prime minister of the United Kingdom, was engaged in a publicity event for environmental issues when a captive macaw, clearly a Tory, fetched him a bruising bite on the finger.

In collusion with the right-wing press, the 1% rich, elite and privileged in the United Kingdom have freed themselves from the financial oversight and human rights obligations of the European Union. By underfunding, undermining and unpicking the very fabric and foundations of society – health and social care, schools, transport, the probation service, prisons, the border force and the civil service, they have created a social and financial crisis far worse than in any other developed economy in the world.

We learn from Jesus’ example while on earth that He did not come to set up “Christian nations.” Jesus modeled being an underking. His kingdom was not married to any political party or country. We learn from this that we must continually go back to Jesus and His example of “subversive resistance” to all that is contrary to His way. We must study His teachings, look deeply at His example, and ask hard questions of ourselves and others about what it means to follow Jesus. This applies to Republicans and Democrats in the United States, Tories and Labour in the UK, any and all political parties and philosophies.

The battle for free trade policies – always difficult in the US – has, after all, gone rather convincingly backwards in both major US parties in the last 20 years. I am tempted to say it’s only much of the Tory Eurosceptic Americanophile establishment which appears not quite to have noticed that, and seems to view President’s Trump’s administration as more of a bastion of free trade than it seems to the rest of the world.

The competitors of leftist revolutionaries in Italy, Austria, or Hungary after the First World War were not nineteenth-century English Tories or English liberals. It was preeminently the revolutionary Right that performed this oppositional function. Moreover, the fascists did not operate as merely partisan opposition, like Republicans in the United States or the Conservative Party in England. They represented the "political" in the sense in which Carl Schmitt applied that term, namely as an adversary in a life-and-death confrontation between sides that did not view themselves as debating teams on a TV news program.

on 31 May 1904 Churchill ‘crossed the floor’: he entered the Chamber, walked towards the Speaker’s Chair, bowed, and then turned right instead of left to sit on the Opposition benches, from which he would savagely attack the party he had just deserted. For the Tories he was now ‘the Blenheim rat’, and it did look as though he was leaving a sinking ship.

almost grateful to leave Galen’s nice little apartment—which still held hope like tattered party banners—for Tory’s, which was a testament to when hope died, violently and by its own hand.

While it may have been true at the end of the nineteenth century to describe the Anglican Church as the Tory Party at prayer, it would be more correct to say, of its leaders today, that they represent the Labour Party trying to remember how to pray, while not really understanding the point of it.

Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, trying to shake him off but he didn’t budge. “Like what?” “Like you didn’t take part in that whole shoving me in a pit bullshit right before the Nymph attack. Like we aren’t on two different sides of some fight I never asked to be in,” I spat, surprising myself with how angry I felt at him. “We are on two different sides of it though,” he said and there was no apology in his voice, just acceptance. “But shit, Tory you don’t understand how freaking much I like playing this game with you. Ever since we got back from that party I’ve hardly been able to think about anything else. The feeling of you in my arms, the taste of your blood on my lips, the rush I get when you run from me...” My pulse spiked in response to his words despite myself and as he drew a little closer to me, I didn’t push him back. “You’re not even sorry, are you?” I breathed. “Can’t be sorry for it. I’ve got responsibilities. To the other Heirs, my family, Solaria... I have to think of what’s best for all of them and if you take the throne then the Nymphs might just get the leg up they need to win this war. You have to know I can’t let that happen.” He hadn’t released me and I found I didn’t really want him to. “I have a bit of a weakness for assholes,” I admitted slowly. “But I’m used to them lying about what they are. At least you own it.” “I do,” Caleb said with a smirk, his hand travelling up my neck ever so slowly. “I’m an honest to god asshole. Do you want to keep playing with me, Tory?” “Maybe,” I breathed because in that moment I didn’t even know anymore. I should have been trying to keep away from him and his psycho friends but one way or another our lives all seemed to be destined to tangle up with each other's. And at least Caleb wasn’t lying to me. He wasn’t offering me the world, but he was offering me freedom, at least in this. So maybe I could try keeping the two things separate, when we were alone we could forget about being an Heir and a lost princess. And outside of that, we could stay on opposite sides of this stupid feud. It seemed kinda like a recipe for disaster but maybe I wanted a little rebellion. “I’ll take maybe.” Caleb leaned forward to kiss me and I didn’t make any move to stop him. His mouth was hot and demanding against mine and the passion that burned between us sprang to life instantly, urging me on. My heart thumped harder and his fingers twisted into my hair, tugging just enough to elicit a moan from my lips. (tory)

My nails were digging into his shoulders and I was glad that he’d cast the silencing spell because I was making enough noise to be heard in the party downstairs. Caleb kissed me again then pulled back, pressing his palms to the table on either side of my head as he looked down at me. I reached out between us, exploring his chest with my hands for a moment before he snatched them into his grasp and pinned them above my head. I writhed beneath him as he smiled darkly and increased his pace, pushing me towards the edge. My body flexed and tightened beneath him, my back arching as he drove me on and I cried out as he wrung a wave of pleasure from my flesh. He slowed down a little as I caught my breath, releasing my wrists and kissing my neck. I panted beneath him for a moment before rearing up and rolling him beneath me so that I could sit on top of him instead. Caleb groaned with desire as he looked up at me and I changed the pace again, riding him towards his climax. One of hands reached out to caress my breast while he pushed his other thumb down on the spot at the apex of my thighs, exactly where I wanted him. I tipped my head back, my hair brushing along my spine as my muscles began to tighten around him again. I could feel him losing control too and I bit my lip as I moved a little faster. Pleasure rode through my body and I cried out just as he came apart beneath me, my name spilling from his lips. I collapsed forward onto his chest and lay panting in his strong arms for several long seconds as he trailed his fingers through my hair. “You don’t know how much I’ve been wanting to do that,” Caleb breathed in my ear and I smiled as I turned to press a brief kiss to his lips. “I think you made it pretty clear,” I teased. I climbed off of him and retrieved my clothes from the floor, pulling them back on again as Caleb followed me and did the same. He kept his eyes on me as he pulled his pants back on and moved forward to retie my dress again for me, his fingertips brushing across my neck and sending a shiver along my sensitised skin. He buckled his belt and located his shirt while I ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to tame it. Caleb waved a hand through the air and I felt the silencing spell dissolve around us. I pushed my feet back into my stilettos and we stood looking at each other with our clothes back on and a secret between us. “I like playing games with you, Tory,” Caleb said as he moved towards me. “I didn’t entirely hate it,” I admitted. “Sorry I’m not more... horsey,” I added with a smirk, unable to help myself. “That fucking rumour,” he growled, but there wasn’t really any anger in his tone after what we’d just done. “I heard you like it when they shove their horn up your-” “Shut up. I just showed you exactly what I like.” He snorted a laugh. “Mmm... Maybe I’ll let you show me it again some time.” (tory)

Fae of the match,” she said and I flinched in surprise as her voice rang out over the whole stadium. “Goes to Geraldine Grus.” I could finally let my smile free as I looked around to see Geraldine leaping out of her spot in the line up, her eyes glimmering with emotion. “Oh sweet onion balls!” she gasped as she rushed towards us. “Congratulations!” I said enthusiastically as I placed the medal over her head. She crushed me in an embrace, lifting me clean off of my feet as she celebrated. Darcy wrapped her arms around us too and we laughed as Geraldine descended into happy tears. “And congratulations to the winners of the match: Starlight Academy!” Nova added loudly when we didn’t seem likely to break free of Geraldine any time soon. The crowd from Starlight went crazy, their applause deafening as the team jumped up and down in ecstatic celebration. A low growl caught my attention and I glanced to my right where Darius stood almost close enough to touch. His jaw was locked tight, his spine rigid and his eyes burning with rage. I looked away from him quickly, though I couldn’t help but feel glad that this was upsetting him. Poor little Darius lost his favourite game. Imagine how bad you’d feel if someone tried to drown you though? Not that I’m bitter at all... Nova passed Darcy a bunch of flowers and gave me a medal on a green ribbon as the Starlight Airstriker stepped up to claim them. The guy pulled both of us into an exuberant hug as he claimed his prizes and I couldn’t help but feel a bit pleased for the team as we worked our way through the line, handing over flowers and medals to each of them as they approached. I imagined beating a team filled with the Celestial Heirs was something that none of them would ever forget. I could feel heat radiating off of Darius beside me as he fought to maintain his composure while the line worked its way past us but I didn’t look his way again. The last Starlight player to approach us was the Captain, Quentin. He smiled widely as he accepted the flowers from Darcy, tossing her a wink. As I placed the medal around his neck he pulled me into a tight hug, his hand skimming my ass less than accidentally. I pushed him off with a laugh, his excitement infectious in a way that made me think he was a Siren but it didn’t feel invasive like the way it always did with Max. Maybe because he wasn’t trying to force any emotions onto me, just sharing his own. “Why don’t you two girls come back and party with us at Starlight tonight?” he offered and I didn’t miss his suggestive tone. “Why don’t you fuck off while you’ve still got some teeth left?” Darius said before we could respond. I frowned at him but his gaze was locked on Quentin. To my surprise, Quentin laughed tauntingly. “And to think, we were worried about facing off against the Celestial Heirs,” he said, aiming his comments at me and Darcy. “Turns out they really aren’t that impressive after all. It would be a shame if Solaria ended up in their loser hands. Maybe the two of you should reconsider the idea of taking up your crown?” I laughed at his brazen behaviour, wondering how much more it would take for Darius to snap. “Yeah,” I replied jokingly. “Maybe we should take our crowns back after all.” Darcy laughed too, flicking her long hair. “Oh yeah,” she agreed. “I think a crown would suit me actually.” Quentin yelled out in surprise as a shot of heated energy slammed into him like a freight train and he was catapulted halfway across the pitch before falling into a heap on the ground. Before I could react in any way, I found a severely pissed off Dragon Shifter snarling in my face. My breath caught in my lungs and I blinked up at him as he growled at me. Seth moved in on Darcy beside me, his face set with the same enraged scowl while the other two drew close behind them. “Do you want to say that again?” Darius asked, his voice low, the threat in it sending a tremor right through my core. (tory)

Superficial statesmen and politicians — always too plentifully represented in every Reform, Radical or Revolutionary Party — constantly make the mistake of assuming that if a well-tried and old-established institution begins to reveal serious flaws, the fault must inevitably lie with the institution itself and not with the men trying to run it. Consequently, the facile remedy such men invariably seek is that of scrapping the institution altogether and replacing it by some new-fangled untried contraption, hastily contrived, which is then with infantile naivete handed over to the very same generation of men who have made a mess of the scrapped edifice. At bottom, this policy amounts to attempting to correct the faulty and incompetent driving of a car by tinkering with its mechanisms and structure, instead of improving the driver.

A knock came at the door and I stiffened, getting to my feet so that I could open it. Darius stood outside wearing a black tux which looked like it had been made specifically for him. It fit perfectly and my mouth dried up as my gaze roamed over him. His dark hair was slicked back and the rough stubble lining his jaw ached for me to brush my fingers over it. No, no, no. Bad Tory. “Darcy’s not here yet,” I said in place of a greeting. “I can see that,” he replied. Before I could lose myself to the spell of his unfairly good looks, I turned away from him, heading back to the mirror which hung on the wall as I applied another coat of lipstick which wasn’t in any way necessary. He stayed by the door, leaning against the frame as he watched me. “You’re not wearing the dress I sent you.” “This might be a good time for you to realise, I don’t tend to do as I’m told,” I said dismissively. “I think I like this one better anyway.” I turned to look at him in surprise as his gaze slid over me in a way that made heat rise along my skin. “Nice to know you can admit when you’re wrong,” I said. “So you’re actually going to stick to your word about being nice?” Darius flashed me a smile which transformed his face in a way I’d never seen before. “I am. Just try not to fall in love with me though, it could make things awkward when we go back to fighting with each other tomorrow.” I scoffed at that and tossed my lipstick into my clutch just as my Atlas pinged. Darcy: I bumped into Orion by The Orb. He says he’s coming with us and that you should meet us here... I raised an eyebrow in surprise and tapped out a quick response. Tory: Okay, I’ll be there to rescue you from his grumpy face ASAP x “Darcy says she’s going to meet us at The Orb. She ran into your bestie and he told her he can’t bear to spend the evening away from you so he’s tagging along. I just hope that this party isn’t going to be dull, because inviting a teacher has really lowered my expectations for debauchery,” I said as I moved out of my room and locked up behind me. “In all honesty, Lance is more likely to add to the debauchery than detract from it,” Darius said, offering me his arm. “Ooo Lance has a first name. Will he want me using that or is it a special right only given to those who get a tattoo in his honour?” I asked, touching my fingers to Darius’s forearm where I knew the Libra brand sat on his skin beneath the fancy suit. I didn’t take his arm though and started walking down the corridor unassisted. “What makes you think that tattoo is for him?” Darius asked, falling into step with me easily despite the fast pace I set. “Oh is it a secret? I thought everyone knew he was your Guardian and you’ve got that little soul bond thing going on.” “Who told you that?” Darius demanded, his voice dropping an octave. “You just did.” I flashed him a smile and he scowled at me. “Done playing nice so soon?” He released a long breath as we reached the common room but didn’t reply. A lot of eyes turned our way. I guessed the sight of the two of us suddenly hanging out was pretty weird. (Tory)

Do you always just stand there gawping like tweedle dumb and tweedle dumber? I thought you were supposed to pose a challenge to the throne of Solaria?” “Actually we just want our inher-” Tory started but Mildred spoke loudly over her in her baritone voice. “You do realise the only reason you're at this party is because everyone wants to have a good laugh about how us Dragons are going to use you bony bodies as toothpicks after Darius and I ascend to our rightful place on the throne?” She moved closer, her head cocked and her mouth set into a sneer. “Why would anyone bow to a couple of Orderless, busty airheads?” My teeth locked together as anger bloomed in my chest. “I'm kinda fond of the busty part,” Caleb muttered and Seth fist bumped him. “We're not airheads-” I started, figuring I couldn't really deny the other two things - dammit. “And the only reason we're at this party is because Darius is helping out Tory in return. It's tit for tat.” “Darius would never give his tat for any of your tits!” she shrieked, smoke spewing from her nostrils. Tory burst out laughing, but I sensed the danger in Mildred's tone and hurriedly used what Professor Perseus had taught us, forcing a shield of air out around us. Fire streamed from Mildred's open mouth and deflected over the shield in a powerful display of red and gold sparks. My heart hammered wildly as Mildred grunted her fury then stormed past us and exited the room. She slammed the door with a wall-shaking bang and my shoulders dropped with relief. “Good thinking,” Tory said on a breath. Darius sunk down into a chair and dropped his head into his hands. His friends grouped around him, their mocking expressions falling away. Seth nuzzled against Darius's cheek and Max reached out, pressing his fingers to the back of his hand while Caleb started pacing back and forth in front of him. I sensed this was the right time to leave and we both slipped out of the room without a word. We moved away, lingering on the edge of the crowd as I eagerly hunted for another glass of champagne. If there was one way to get through this night, it started with alco and ended in hol. (Darcy)

You really don’t like him, do you?” Xavier asked in surprise. “Who?” I asked innocently. “Darius,” he said, his gaze moving over my shoulder. “This is the part where I insult him and he’s right behind me, isn’t it?” Xavier’s eyes sparked with amusement and he nodded. Well far be it from me to disappoint. “In that case, I happen to think he’s a vindictive, pretentious twat-waffle who really needs to pull the stick out of his ass and let loose more often,” I said. “I thought we were being nice this evening?” Darius murmured behind me and I stifled a flinch at just how close he was. “You said you’d be nice. I made no such promises,” I pointed out, turning to look up at him as he moved to my side. Although now that I thought about it, maybe I had... the champagne tequila cocktail taking place in my digestive system was wreaking havoc with my memory as well as my manners. Now that he and Xavier were so close to each other it was obvious they were brothers, though Xavier didn’t seem as intense as Darius. But they shared the same jaw, the same colouring, even though Xavier’s build was a lot less stacked. “Well you’re making Xavier smile so I’ll forgive you this once,” Darius said. “Poor Tory is starving to death,” Xavier said, though his smile fell a little in response to his brother’s words. “Maybe you can find her something good to eat while I take my leave of this party.” I followed his gaze and noticed Lionel looking our way. He didn’t seem pleased about something and Xavier got to his feet hastily. “It was nice to meet you,” I said. “You too, Tory. See you later, Darius.” Xavier tucked his chair back into place and quickly left the room. (Tory)

I glanced at Darius as we were left alone together. Apparently my attempts to avoid this particular Heir were doomed to fail tonight. Darius looked over my shoulder and his face dipped into a scowl. I followed his gaze and spotted his fiancé Mildred barrelling through the crowd towards us with a frown on her face which melded her eyebrows into one bushy line. “Come on then,” Darius said hastily, leading the way to the door Xavier had taken out of the room. “Where to?” I asked in confusion. The party was in full swing and I was fairly sure we weren’t supposed to be leaving it. Not that I’d ever cared much for rules but it seemed odd that he’d gone to so much trouble to get me here just to sneak me away again. Plus it was probably a good idea for me to get the hell away from him before his toothy bride arrived and tried to snap me in half with her brawny arms. “Xavier said you want some real food,” Darius said suggestively, heading on out without bothering to make sure I was following. I hesitated. I didn’t really want to go anywhere with him but I couldn’t deny the draw I felt to him either. The champagne probably isn’t helping with that. My stomach growled impatiently and I sighed as I gave in to its demands. I snatched another glass of champagne on my way out, quickly drinking it in one gulp before hurrying after him. If alcohol was going to make this decision for me then the least I could do was make sure I consumed plenty of it. I glanced back at Darcy as I left but she was laughing at something Hamish had said and didn’t notice me. Mildred on the other hand looked like she was primed for murder and I hurried out of the room as she began to battle her way across the dance floor with me locked in her sights. Darius led me down corridors with gilded decorations at every turn. Dragons really liked their gold and it was obvious they had plenty of it to spare. “Thank you for cheering Xavier up,” Darius said as he opened the door onto a narrow corridor and led me inside. Thankfully there was no sign of Mildred catching up and I had to hope we’d lost her. A few serving staff squeezed past us carrying trays as we walked, bowing their heads as they spotted the infamous Acrux Heir. “Why did he need cheering up?” I asked curiously. “No reason.” I rolled my eyes at his back. (Tory)

At the end of the long corridor, he opened another door and we stepped out into a huge kitchen filled with bustling staff who were refilling champagne glasses and making up more of the fancy bite-sized bits of food. Darius skirted the madness and I followed him, careful not to get in anyone’s way. He approached a woman who was working on a tray of creamy puff things and leaned close to ask her something. She instantly stopped what she was doing and headed away with a bow. Darius beckoned for me to follow him and I gritted my teeth as I did, wondering why I’d even come down here with him. The drink was making my head swimmy and apparently it was affecting my judgement too. He led me through a door to a darkened room with a few soft chairs by the far window and a small table in the centre of the space. Darius headed for the chairs but I ignored him, taking a perch on the table instead. “Do you ever do as you’re told?” he asked me, noticing the fact that I’d stopped following him. “Nope. Do you ever stop telling people what to do?” I asked. “I think I might just miss your smart mouth when you fail The Reckoning,” he muttered. I didn’t validate that with a response. He removed his black jacket and I eyed his fitted white shit appreciatively before pulling my gaze away. I did not need to fall under the spell of Darius Acrux’s stupidly hot appearance. Darius tossed his jacket down on the closest chair and moved to stand beside me. I could feel his eyes on me but I gave my attention to the room, studying portraits of old men in stuffy clothes and dragons soaring across the sky. Their choice in decor was boringly repetitive. The door opened and the kitchen maid came in carrying two plates with subs for us. I smiled at her as I accepted mine. “Thanks,” I said and she stared at me like I’d just slapped her before heading out of the room. “What was that about?” I asked before taking a bite of my sandwich. Holy hell that's good. “Serving jobs are generally taken by Fae with negligible amounts of magic,” Darius said as I ate like a woman possessed. “Thanking them for their work is kind of like the sun thanking a daisy for blooming. Just having a position in our household is beyond what they expect in life.” I paused, my food suddenly tasting like soot in my mouth. Of course that was how they viewed people with less than them. They were the elite, top of the pecking order, why would they waste time thanking those beneath them? If we’d met in the mortal world he never would have looked at me at all... and I’d have robbed him blind while he pretended not to notice my existence. I ate the last few bites of my food in silence and put the plate down beside me as soon as I was done. “I’d like to go back to the party now,” I said coldly. Darius eyed me over his own sandwich which he’d barely touched. “Because I don’t thank servants for doing their jobs?” he asked with barely concealed ridicule. “Because you’re boringly predictable just like everyone else here. You’re all more concerned about what everybody else thinks and sees than you are about enjoying life. What difference does it make if someone’s the most powerful Fae in the room or the least? I’d sooner have the time of my life with a powerless nobody than stand about posturing with a guy who doesn’t even know how to have fun.” I shrugged and got to my feet, intending to make my own way back to the ballroom but Darius moved forward a step, boxing me against the table as he placed his sandwich down. (Tory)

Hamilton, still full of fight, quarreled on the street with Commodore James Nicholson, head of the Democratic Society and honorary captain of the Federal Ship Hamilton in 1788. Nicholson accused his former ally of being “an abetter of Tories” and used “other harsh expressions.” Hamilton promptly challenged Nicholson to a duel, and Nicholson accepted. Moments later Hamilton had a second confrontation with prominent opponents of the treaty, shouting that he would “fight the whole party one by one . . . the whole detestable faction.” The former secretary of the treasury had become a mere “street Bully,” sneered Beau Ned Livingston.

I always regarded him as a One Nation Conservative who admired Margaret Thatcher and had somehow wound up in the Labour Party because his wife was a left-wing political activist and he had an innate distaste for the old Tory tradition.

I know that the smallest, most inconsequential things can set me off: a well-meaning friend or family member who says, “Come on, just this once.” Off-limit foods served at special occasions like birthday parties, weddings, and holidays. A perceived insult, a bad day, or lousy weather. If there has been an excuse to eat, I have used it to always find my way to food—and the price I paid was staying fat. Those days are over.

British policy to-day is as bad as America's despite our Socialist Government. I am a Socialist and a member of the Government party, but every day I ask myself how a Socialist can conduct the affairs of this Nation by co-operating in international policies with the desperate and grim Capitalist of America. It isn't by force, because we still have an alternative. It is apparently by choice, by our own fear of stepping up to our necks in Socialism. We prefer to be half-baked about it, to be respectable about it, to be careful instead of being daring. Our policy to-day is not to make Socialism work, but to make Capitalism work. For that we conduct our foreign affairs with the same intentions as our Tory opponents. Because of our own fear of Socialism, our policy has become theirs. Theirs is the common anti-Russian front of American and British capital struggling to survive in a world that is rejecting colonial domination and economic slavery. Yet we are not deep enough into it for our great friend opposite. Each step we take into this anti-Russian campaign he asks us to go one more, deeper and deeper, until we are finally committed to war. Our men of capital and imperialism ask us to follow the American crusade so that Britain can gather a few crumbs that we can get in Iran for instance. Ironically, we are expected at the same time to release our grip on the straggling Empire so that American capital can enter and take over.

could not overcome their fear of bullets and arrows and the scalping knife. Protect us,they hollered to the president and the Supreme Executive Council. Send more money, cried battalion colonels. Despite amendments to the Militia Act, Pennsylvania's Revolutionary government failed to win the hearts of Northampton's militiamen. The farmers had grown weary of their role as soldiers. Moreover, a byzantine relationship between Northampton's county lieutenant, a civilian commander of the militia who had been appointed by the president, and battalion officers, who had been elected by their men, foiled the dictates of the law. Isolated by natural boundaries, hampered by poor communications, red tape, and intramural disputes, each Northampton battalion became a fiefdom whose leaders distanced themselves from the county lieutenant, county officials, the president, and the Council. Apprized of mutinous rumblings in Northampton, the president pleaded with the militia: "Let there be one dispute:who shall serve his country best?"" But pep talks and patriotic slogans had lost their sizzle in Northampton. Fearing for his life, the sheriff refused to collect fines from 300 delinquent militiamen. "They wont suffer no sheriff, constable, or any other fit person to serve any executions on them,"he reported." Later, when Indians and Tories threatened to clear settlers from the frontier, the president promised battalion commanders ammunition and money for scouting parties and scalps,but he warned them that the militia could not be useful if "they meet at taverns and spend their time in amusement and frolick."'$ In the months ahead, the mutiny escalated.

As B o s t ee l s arg u e s , " party" d o e s n o t n ame an i ns t rume n t for c arrying out t h e i ro n laws o f h i s tory but " t h e fl e x i b l e o r g an i z at io n of a fid e l ity to e ve n t s i n the m i d s t o f unfo re s e e ab l e c i r c u ms t an c e

And the Tory Party. That’s why I said I felt trouble was brewing. Arthur Balfour is attempting to sit on the fence, but that won’t do him much good. He may well find himself out of 10 Downing Street sooner than he expects.

Peel was certainly no Judas: he was a man of honest conviction who had honestly changed his mind and had the courage to say so. Nevertheless, the slur would affect his standing in the Tory Party and the next great campaign for Reform.

The polls are still showing the two parties running neck and neck. ‘Labour might actually make it,’ Henry says. ‘The Tories aren’t going to be able to command the confidence of the House.

There is, perhaps, no stronger contrast between the revolutionary times in which we live and the Catholic ages, or even the period of the Reformation, than in this: that the influence which religious motives formerly possessed is now in a great measure exercised by political opinions. As the theory of the balance of power was adopted in Europe as a substitute for the influence of religious ideas, incorporated in the power of the Popes, so now political zeal occupies the place made vacant by the decline of religious fervour, and commands to an almost equal extent the enthusiasm of men. It has risen to power at the expense of religion, and by reason of its decline, and naturally regards the dethroned authority with the jealousy of a usurper. This revolution in the relative position of religious and political ideas was the inevitable consequence of the usurpation by the Protestant State of the functions of the Church, and of the supremacy which, in the modern system of government, it has assumed over her. It follows also that the false principles by which religious truth was assailed have been transferred to the political order, and that here, too, Catholics must be prepared to meet them; whilst the objections made to the Church on doctrinal grounds have lost much of their attractiveness and effect, the enmity she provokes on political grounds is more intense. It is the same old enemy with a new face. No reproach is more common, no argument better suited to the temper of these times, than those which are founded on the supposed inferiority or incapacity of the Church in political matters. As her dogma, for instance, is assailed from opposite sides,—as she has had to defend the divine nature of Christ against the Ebionites, and His humanity against Docetism, and was attacked both on the plea of excessive rigorism and excessive laxity (Clement Alex., Stromata, iii. 5),—so in politics she is arraigned on behalf of the political system of every phase of heresy. She was accused of favouring revolutionary principles in the time of Elizabeth and James I., and of absolutist tendencies under James II. and his successors. Since Protestant England has been divided into two great political parties, each of these reproaches has found a permanent voice in one of them. Whilst Tory writers affirm that the Catholic religion is the enemy of all conservatism and stability, the Liberals consider it radically opposed to all true freedom.

Everybody in Mariposa is either a Liberal or a Conservative or else is both. Some of the people are or have been Liberals or Conservatives all their lives and are called dyed-in-the-wool Grits or old-time Tories and things of that sort. These people get from long training such a swift penetrating insight into national issues that they can decide the most complicated question in four seconds: in fact, just as soon as they grab the city papers out of the morning mail, they know the whole solution of any problem you can put to them. There are other people whose aim it is to be broad-minded and judicious and who vote Liberal or Conservative according to their judgment of the questions of the day. If their judgment of these questions tells them that there is something in it for them in voting Liberal, then they do so. But if not, they refuse to be the slaves of a party or the henchmen of any political leader.

Initially Tories regarded the 1918 franchise with deep apprehension – none more so than Stanley Baldwin, the shrewd, bluff Worcestershire businessman who was party leader for fourteen years from 1923 to 1937 and prime minister on three occasions (1923–4, 1924–9 and 1935–7). Although the family's iron and steel business made Baldwin a very wealthy man, his approach to both business and politics was paternalistic and inclusive – in short, a ‘One Nation’ Tory. And from his mother's more cultured family (the painter Edward Burne-Jones was an uncle and Rudyard Kipling one of his cousins) Baldwin derived a keen, often romanticized sense of England's heritage

They came all that distance just to see a baby?” she whispered. “For heaven’s sake, they’re not a war party. Nothing’s going on. Just because Polly’s folks were Tories and Gideon lived at that school in Canada doesn’t make them dangerous.” “What if he’s a British agent, Eph?” “Don’t be ridiculous, Livy. That’s a harebrained, womanish idea.” “Why?” she said angrily. “It’s your pa said there were plenty of them making trouble out here. He said those British in Upper Canada keep telling the western tribes the king will come to their aid if they war with the Americans.” “Gideon lives right in the middle of Americans. What would he have to gain by starting a war in his own backyard?” “I don’t know, Eph. All I know is what Uncle John said. Upper Canada wants Indian territory sitting between it and America. A strip below Lake Ontario and Lake Erie. If Gideon helps them, maybe the British will give him land as a reward. Rising Hawk’s probably in on it, too. He’s always traveling over to Canada to the nations at Grand River. Couldn’t he be carrying messages to the British garrisons there?” “Rising Hawk’s not a sneak, Livy. Besides, he could never keep big secrets. He’d turn them into stories and blab to everyone.

Thirty-five years later Stanley Baldwin was to attack some left-wing members of the Tory Party, such as Harold Macmillan and Robert Boothby, when they were associating rather closely with Lloyd George, for ‘hunting with packs other than their own’. The Hooligans could have been attacked on similar grounds. Such records as survive seem to suggest that they spent far more of their time with the right wing of the Liberal Party than they did with their Tory colleagues.

Buoyed by the EU referendum result, the arch-monarchist Tory MP for Romford, Andrew Rosindell, chair of the All-Party Flags and Heraldry Parliamentary Group, tabled a parliamentary motion on 3 November 2016. This called for the reinstatement of ‘God Save The Queen’ at the end of each day’s transmission on BBC1.

It’s tempting, but really, I don’t even know him that well and this feels like the start of every Lifetime movie Tori Spelling ever died in.

Millions of people have taken mushrooms for thousands of years, with very few reports of negative consequences. But the government wanted to score points by being seen as “tough on drugs” as the opposition Tory party said they would be.