The sheer awfulness of CPAC GB
Readers, I have been to a few political conferences in my time. But none of them were as empty, miserable, or downright weird as CPAC GB. Having heard that Liz Truss was bringing the American conservative jamboree across the Atlantic, I felt obliged to go, and comforted myself that there would at least be a bar to flee to if it all got too grotesque. But there was no bar. Or at least there wasn't until I discovered the secret pathway from the Intercontinental Hotel that emerged next to the O2's Wetherspoons. Until then, being cursed with vision, hearing and sanity meant enduring an event that made Truss's premiership look like a model of tact and foresight.
