We all make mistakes - and some of us even admit to them!
For amusement, here are some of my top out-takes during my years as an Agent.
Letter sent to 800 party members ahead of a general election.
"...and on polling day we will need help transporting supporters to the poll. Please bring a cat if you have one."
(spell check didn't pick it up, but fortunately our sensible members came in the cars and didn't bring their cats).
Membership renewal letter sent to lapsing members in June 1992, following unexpectedly strong local election results and our GE victory.
"1992 has been a good year for us..."
(regrettably also sent to our former MP who lost his seat at the April general election).
When a YC in Wallasey, finding the first floor kitchen of our Association HQ knee-deep in soap suds after I put Fairy Liquid in the dishwasher, and using a tea tray to shovel the soap out of the window - directly on top of our MP, Lynda Chalker (Deputy Foreign Secretary), who was standing beneath the window drawing the raffle.
Taking Dennis Thatcher back to the railway station after he addressed a fund raising dinner:
"What the f**k is that?"
It's my car Mr Thatcher.
"YOUR car? What the hell is it?"
It's a Citroën 2CV Mr Thatcher.
"Oh! French. That explains it. How far is it to walk?"
At a Kent fundraiser for marginal seats
"Who's the old duffer talking to Charles Gadd." Lady sitting at my table, "That's my husband."
To an unknown lady who walked into my office, three days before polling day...
"I am sorry, would you mind seeing my Secretary. I am stressed, irritable, physically and emotionally drained, I haven't slept or eaten for two days, I am hot, every bone in my body aches, I have run out of fags, I've got over 20 phone messages to deal with, and if that's not bad enough, in 30 minutes Angela Rumbold will be turning up and I haven't a clue who she is or what I am going to do with her."
Unknown lady: Well, that's an unusual greeting for a visiting Minister. I'm Angela Rumbold.
At Party Conference in Birmingham and answering a call on my mobile from a friend in Hampshire:
"Andrew, stop it immediately."
What do you mean...
"You're standing three feet away from Andrew Neil who is doing a piece live to camera, and the world can see you behind him, scratching your backside. And why the hell are you wearing those ghastly yellow trousers?"