I promised Ralph: no more pandering to the politicians

ON Tuesday night I had to go to the Cheltenham Literary Festival. It was the very night that the Booker Prize winner was to be announced. In the Town Hall, where the Literary Festival takes place, Waterstone's bookshop had taken over one room as a temporary book supermarket, and the shop was well stocked with all the six short-listed novels, of which one was (supposedly) destined to sell very well on the morrow.

As if that wasn't exciting enough, Tuesday night was also the first night of the Tory Party Conference. As I wandered round the halls and bars with which all literary festivals should be well endowed, I wonder if you can guess which topic of conversation was uppermost - Booker Prize or Tory conference?

You're right.

Neither.

I did not hear a single person either discuss the Booker or allude to the Tory camp meeting.

The best explanation for this that I heard all evening came from the lips of Ralph Steadman. He was in a literary session in a large marquee behind the Town Hall with Humphrey Carpenter, Festival Director, and a nice female American academic called Professor Jameson, who has written a book about artists and manic depression and their psychological make-up. Every time Humphrey asked her a question about her book, he sounded as if he was desperately trying not to say: 'So, do you have to be off your trolley to be a good writer?' To avoid temptation, he turned to Ralph Steadman and let him talk. At one point he asked him about political caricatures.

'Oh, I don't do caricatures of politicians any more,' said Steadman. 'Not ever. A man came to me this week at Cheltenham and begged me to do a drawing of Tony Blair for the Labour Party newsletter, but I wouldn't'

'Don't you like Tony Blair?' asked Carpenter.

'I don't think I do,' said Ralph, and added gnomically: 'To me Tony Blair is the mask behind the face. But that's not the point. I refused because I have made a decision never to draw a politician ever again.'

''Why not?'

'I'll tell you why. When we draw politicians, it is sometimes in a friendly way, and sometimes in a very hostile way. But I have discovered that whether you attack them or defend them, they love it. They love the attention, they love the publicity. They would rather be attacked than ignored. So I have issued a message to the cartoonists of the world - why can we not all stop drawing politicians] It is the only way we have left to annoy and worry them]'

This drew a well-deserved round of applause.

It also explained to me why I have never felt the least desire to write about or even attend a party conference. I realised that every time you comment on or talk about a party conference you are falling into the trap that Steadman now refuses to fall into: paying court to politicians.

A party conference is like a fashion parade. On and off the stage troop the models, sporting this season's new notions, rallying the troops, reviving faith in the fashion house and flashing the brand name. In the cases of both fashion and politics, whatever genuinely attractive ideas are shown off, we know we shall never see them actually being worn in the street or in real life. The only reason to watch either of them is that the fashion models have a certain flair and grace.

This cannot be said of the bellowing figures at party conferences. Yesterday at random I switched the TV on and flicked around all the channels. All four had movies on] One modern crime thriller, one old black and white love thing, one British police drama and one horror movie. I couldn't believe that the schedulings would allow there to be nothing but old movies on every channel. I flicked around again to check that I hadn't made a mistake, and it was then that I realised where I had gone wrong. The person I had assumed was a character in a horror movie, bellowing and waving his arms in fearful close-up, was actually Malcolm Rifkind roaring at the Tory faithful at the party conference.

I'm sorry, Ralph. I let you down. I paid attention to a politician. But it was by accident. And it was only for a second or two. It won't happen again. I promise.