The cut and thrust of kiddie politics

Extending her campaign policy of restricting her exclusive interviews to those inquisitive people between the ages of three and five, Mrs Margaret Thatcher went straight for the nappy-wearing voter with a trip to “kiddies korner” at the Alton Towers theme park, Staffordshire.

Conservative strategists have determined that children aged three will be able to vote in the year 2002, when Mrs Thatcher will be entering her fifth term of office as Prime Minister. By that time, many old-age pensioners of today will be disenfranchized owing to death, whilst those waiting in national health queues for major operations will be only a couple of years away from their hospital bed, and thus too excited to rock the boat.

By 2002, the unemployed will have grown used to it, and the school leaver will be unable to spell “X” , so today's nappy-wearer must obviously be the main target of any far-sighted political party.

With this in mind, the tour kicked off with a demonstration of dancing hydraulic diggers. The factory organizers, all in Redcoat blazers, kept the press at bay while a hideous five-minute medley of well-known classical hits set to a rock beat blared out and the vast machines began their strangely obscene “dance” , now lifting up their scoops, now pirouetting, now coming to a happy close.

Denis was delighted. “Fabulous!” he exclaimed while the clumsy vehicles turned turtle to a reggae version of the 1812 Overture. “Best thing I've ever seen,” he assured the managing director as he left.

This was, of course, a “photo opportunity” , for possible inclusion in Dandy and June and Schoolfriend. “What about the unemployed, Mrs Thatcher?” shouted a spoilsport reporter as she beetled past. “Tremendous, terribly clever,” replied Mrs Thatcher, beaming.

Press etiquette dictates that if one aids the editor of Dandy in the morning, then one is duty-bound to award the editor of Tiny Tots with a photo opportunity in the afternoon. Alton Towers proved splendid for the purpose. The Prime Minister was greeted by a man dressed in pink frills with a floppy Gertrude Shilling-style hat.

Was this a disgraced former Cabinet minister taking his first tentative steps towards rehabilitation in the eyes of the public? No, it was Stuart Hall, the ex-television ex-personality, although his fawning presence was never explained.

Unfortunately, Central Office had not reckoned with the fact that on Thursday afternoons, the disgruntled unemployed constitute a fair part of the population of Alton Towers. While she boarded the Skyride Luxury Gondola and travelled over Fantasy World, she was followed by yells of “Evil Thatcher” and less reticent exclamations.

Disembarking from the gondola, she caught sight of a member of her target group. “Hello, and what is your favourite ride?” she asked a boy aged four. “Football,” he replied. Aha, a tricky customer! “Oh! Is there football at Alton Towers?” asked the Prime Minister, quite happy to indulge in the cut and thrust of Kiddie Politics. “No, but there is at home,” replied the boy, undoubtedly a future recruit for Militant Tendency.

After this bout of Catch-the-Child, Mrs Thatcher passed Pepe's Tuck Shop Potato Bar, three jugglers, two men on stilts, Henry the Dog and the Grand Canyon Rapids, and entered Josiah Wedgewood 's workshop after glancing in the window of Toys Fair (Princess of Power, Double Trouble, the Hello Colour Toys).

Emerging from Josiah Wedgewood 's workshop, Mrs Thatcher caught sight at last of the corps of grown-ups who had been following her, unnoticed, all day. Bravely ignoring the kiddy vote she allowed them a couple of minutes to question her.

“Is this really a suitable venue for an election campaign?” asked a clever-clogs grown-up. “Yes, indeed …” began the Prime Minister, but as she was about to continue, toytown news blared out from the Henry The Dog machine. It seems that a chocolate and toffee trail has led investigators to a friendly ghost called Charlie. That's the kind of good news Britain so sorely needs.