How I introduced William the Conqueror to Reggie

The Agreeable World of Wallace Arnold

I knew Reggie Maudling, of course, and I was on nodding terms with Reggie Bosanquet. But it was not until last Sunday, attending the Notting Hill Carnival, that I had ever heard of Reggie Music. One grows older and wiser though not necessarily happier, alas - with every day.

As the unofficial senior public relations adviser to the Rt Hon William Hague, I have been spending my well- earned August holidays drawing up a list of "target areas" where the Leader of the Opposition stands to win over the over-promoted Mr Blair. These are:

a) Youth. William is much, much younger than Blair. Full of honest-to- goodness exuberance, he has his finger firmly on the pulse of the younger generation. With his charming young fiancee Ffion (dread spelling mistake!) he is part of a couple who are set to add finger-clickin' youthful zest to the British political scene of the late 90s, just as John and Norma Major did in the early 90s.

b) A baseball cap. Both William and Ffion now sport their own bright blue baseball caps from over 500 ordered by Conservative Central Office. These will inject the Tory Party with a much-needed dollop of youthful vigour. Many of our younger members have already pledged to wear them in youth clubs and on street corners for up to three hours a week, among them Lord Parkinson, Sir Norman Fowler and Dr Brian Mawhinney.

c) An Afro-wig. Over the years, the Conservative Party has frankly made little headway in capturing the all-important Afro-Carribean vote. Previous attempts to garner black support - one thinks of Willie Whitelaw's fruitless 1985 attempt to lead the party faithful in a conference rendition of Mr Bob Marley's "Trenchtown Rock", or Kenneth Baker's decision to offer the welcoming arm of the party to the ethnic community by inviting the entire cast of the Black and White Minstrels to a drinks party at the Home Office. But now this is all set to change. In the last few weeks, William Hague has been fitted up with a specially tailored "Hendrix-style Afro-wig", with which he will be able to stroll the streets of our inner-city areas with renewed ease and vigour. Unlike his challenger for the Tory crown, Mr Redwood, William has also made the effort to learn all the words of such perennial favourites as "Ol' Man River" and "Mammy", so as to hold his own in ethnic circles.

So when it came to last week's Notting Hill Carnival, William, Ffion, and my own good self proved ready to take on the combined might of our colourful new friends. Sadly, William still had one further fitting before the delivery of his Afro-wig, but we had ordered him some "blue jeans", the very latest in trouserwear from the other side of the Atlantic, and he had agreed to remove his necktie for the duration of our visit. In charge of the smooth operation of his courageous visit, I had invested in a triple-CD of ethnic music - James Last's Party A-Go-Go: Volume 6 - and had spent many an evening brushing up on my dance steps to the Afro- beat of such rhythmic black numbers as "Would You Like to Fly in my Beautiful Balloon?".

We timed our arrival at the Carnival for 7.15am, before the streets became jammed up with too many revellers, layabouts, ruthless drugs-barons and hard-nosed villains.

"I've always liked black music," William confided to me as we strolled along Arundel Gardens together, looking for someone to shake hands with. "Ever since my mother bought me 'Two Little Boys' for my fifth birthday."

" 'Two Little Boys'?" I said, "An excellent tune, indeed, and most moving, but - forgive me - is Rolf Harris strictly speaking black? I agree he's certainly on the dusky side, but then he does live near Maidenhead, where they are blessed with a lot of sun."

"He's as black as the Ace of Spades," snapped William. "He just hides it with that beard."

By this time we had lined up the photographers, having first located a friendly Police Constable with whom William could perform a jaunty Samba. "I haven't danced like this since Alan Duncan taught me to Foxtrot that balmy summer's evening in Casablanca!" enthused William, the officer's riot shield playing havoc with his freshly-pressed jeans. Sensing that everything was going our way and spotting a young woman of West Indian appearance loitering in a doorway, Ffion suggested that a little "Reggie Music" might be in order.

She then placed a long player by a Mr Jah Wobble (natty dread name!) on the gramophone whilst William donned his baseball cap and approached a native, perhaps Reggie himself. "I am the Leader of the Opposition. Would you care for this dance?" he asked. Five days on, his doctors report good progress, though his cap and jeans are beyond repair. In future, Conservative leaders would be best advised to avoid Reggie at all cost, methinks.