Andrew George MP. Generally nice, decent, likeable.
Man for the job in the constituency he's in (St Ives), got the local interests at heart, speaks Cornish, campaigns for the NHS and Badger inoculation and devolution for Cornwall.

Still looks like a twat dressed up as St George at the Hal-an-Tow celebration at Flora Day in Helston.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Wed 6 May 2015, 18:40, 1 reply)

I am a member of the Cabinet.
Can you guess which one?
(eViLegion Chief Commissioner of the Scottish Lunacy Board, Tue 5 May 2015, 23:13, 12 replies)

Harold Saxon
or Harriet Jones or something.

Sorry very busy this week sweetieze xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Tue 5 May 2015, 19:51, 2 replies)

Saw Michael Gove jumping out of a Vauxhall Zafira on the A5
he was in a layby and was squatted down doing a watery shit. He told us not to watch.
( $$ ✅, Tue 5 May 2015, 19:43, 1 reply)

great question, I have met many politicians. they all seem pretty normal.
jack straw was my favourite and his Hampstead pub was really nice.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Tue 5 May 2015, 19:39, 1 reply)

Last election I was working for a largish advertising agency who took on the Tories as a client
I did some work for them, mostly just image editing and a couple of websites. Then, over the weekend, without asking anyone at the agency, their central office went ahead and launched this:

www.theguardian.com/technology/2010/mar/22/cash-gordon-twitter-tories
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Tue 5 May 2015, 15:42, 6 replies)

I almost worked for an MP.
Well, I say "almost worked for"... I probably wouldn't've stood a chance, but it's close enough.

About a decade ago, I was wondering if I'd ever find paid work in my preferred area: it was beginning to look doubtful. My parents were beginning to wonder something similar, and every so often they'd send me details of job ads they'd seen in the paper.

One such was from The Times, advertising a vacancy to work as PA to a high-profile MP. There was a phone number, and so - for want of any better ideas - I rang it.
"Good morning; Office of Ann Widdecombe," said the voice at the other end of the line.

I put down the phone.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Tue 5 May 2015, 15:22, 10 replies)

Gig, Lig, Swig, Jig
I was at a wrap party for a TV show. All the guests from the series' run had been invited, so it was wall-to-wall slebs. But one stood out: he was clearly up for anything free: food, drink, entertainment, whatever. He was a blaggard of the highest rank, in fact; always the first at the table, and the last to leave it, grabbing the goodies with both hands and a shameless grin. He was still going strong when I'd had enough of free booze and letching over Lauren Laverne, and decided to stagger off into the early morning.

So who was this master of the arts of blag? Ian Duncan Smith.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Tue 5 May 2015, 13:12, 1 reply)

Ed sucked my balls

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Tue 5 May 2015, 9:16, Reply)

Unlike most of our politicians, I'm not going to lie.
I didn't witness this but heard about it from quite a few people who were there, plus the man himself.

I went back to college a few years ago and for some unfathomable reason Gordon Brown turned up there one lunchtime. He had a small retinue, including security, who patrolled the hall full of slightly puzzled students while GB glad-handed the principal and made a speech.

Cue one of my course-mates, a lad called Hamish (I'll leave you to guess what part of the world this is in) stepping forward to ask some - probably protest-related - question.

Hamish wasn't tall but he had a dark complexion, short jet-black hair and the most luxuriant beard you can imagine. Seriously - only about 18 but could have auditioned for ZZ Top.

Security see him approach the stage, obviously think he's a Muslim and within seconds have him pinned against a wall, arm across his throat, demanding his name and going through his pockets. All credit to Hamish, he just told them to fuck off and when they realised he was just another local kid they got a bit red-faced and did so.

Having said that, Hamish just stopped coming in a few weeks later. Probably in Guantanamo the noo.
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Tue 5 May 2015, 2:42, 2 replies)

I saw...
...Robin Cook walking through St James' Park. A few months later he died.

I saw Mo Mowlem walking through St James' Park. A few months later she died.

I'm on the look out for George Osborne.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Tue 5 May 2015, 0:44, 5 replies)

Gordon Brown: unexpected handshake
At Jimmy Reid's funeral in Glasgow, 2010. The church was full but they had put speakers outside for all of us standing around in the church grounds to hear the service. It was surprisingly sunny. He was a decent fellow that Jimmy Reid. He had a lot of friends and admirers in Glasgow.

I left the church grounds after the coffin departed, and was stood by the road. All of a sudden Gordon Brown appeared from nowhere. He shook the hand of the person standing beside me and then before I knew what was happening he was shaking my hand too, saying it was a sad day.

Quite surreal.
(dbstpballerina Finally ready. YALDY, Mon 4 May 2015, 23:07, Reply)

Met Denis Thatcher once.
Got invited to a do in the HoC, he was the guest of honour. So, went along, filled up on vol-au-vents and free fizz courtesy of the Chelsea Young Conservatives, and then got introduced to Denis.

"So, what do you do?"
"IT worker for <redacted>"
"Oh, one of my friends owns them, I think. Got a light?"

… at which point my twat friend who'd insisted on being dragged along, and who was already 3 sheets to the wind, pulls out his *pistol-shaped* lighter, and waves it in Denis' face.

Remarkably, we didn't get arrested or shot, and that was the last time I was invited to the House of Commons.
(m.auron, Mon 4 May 2015, 17:13, Reply)

Trying to explain the UK election to Americans
m.dailykos.com/stories/1380467

Is it a parliamentary constituency or a Game of Thrones location?
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Sun 3 May 2015, 20:37, 1 reply)

Back in the day, dear old Norman Lamont was the MP for Kingston (constituencies may have changed boundaries for means of ease, gerrymandering and general tomfoolery. Please check your ballot paper). No doubt loved by the posh folk on the hill, he may have been less well accepted by the constituents elsewhere.

Round about 1991, I was walking down by Kingston riverside, probably heading to a pub. A shopping centre had just been opened, John Lewis no less. With a Waitrose in the basement. What joy!

As I came up to this new development, some suits were visible in the distance. Serious suits. The Norm was visible.

On cue, the door of The Outrigger (dodgy pub at the best of times, unfortunately now demolished) opened, revealing a nicely tattooed gent, who ran towards the suits, shouted "you fat cunt"' and promptly disappeared back in the pub.

Good call.
(groover j lazerus, Sun 3 May 2015, 19:53, 1 reply)

I'm not that posh, honest
I was at Glyndebourne a number of years back as my mum loved the opera and would go there a number of times every year.
Mainly I was there as we got to have a great picnic, lots of booze and could people watch the great and the good in some fantastically hideous clothes.
It used to piss my mum off that so many people would get the really good seats and not bother coming back from the interval for the second half (mainly these were corporate folk on a jolly who had done their deals over the interval meal and wine and wanted to get back to London). She would eye up these seats and had quite a good record of upgrading herself from the £10 standing seats to the couple of hundred pound locations.
One year Michael Portillo was sat a few rows in front of us and after the interval I looked down and saw he hadn't returned quite yet.
I told my mum I was going to go down and upgrade myself but she was adamant that I couldn't do it as there was still time for him to come back.
I replied that if that happened I would have the perfect quip to come back with:
"Well Michael, it isn't the only seat you've lost this year"
However, I bottled it, didn't take his seat, didn't get to use the line on him and missed out on what would have been a great story to tell and is now really rather crap.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Sun 3 May 2015, 14:43, Reply)

Not my story but my dads
He was in a juicer after work when some guy burst through the doors.
It was Douglas Hurd, topless. He shouted "Who's the hardest person here?"
Some meat head replied "I am you Mr Whippy haired twat."
Douglas walked over and picked up the guy's pint glass and smashed it over the bloke's head.
He went down like a sack of shit.
Hurd then shouted "Who's the second hardest person here?" No one replied.
"Thought so," Hurd said.

He lit up a cigarette and walked out.
( $$ ✅, Sun 3 May 2015, 11:52, 5 replies)

Maggie
Not me but a tale related from a mate.
Back in the dim and distant 80s Maggie was due to visit some community enterprise thing.
Cue a long line of dissenters all waving their fists in the air and chanting 'Maggie Out'
The car pulls up and out gets our severely coiffed Prime Minister.
Who then proceeds to walk right up to the line of boo hooers, straight up to some huge tattoed vest clad skinhead.
At which point she extends her hand out and the guy perplexed at what to do next takes it and shakes it.
Big guy instantly deflated, Maggie walks away apparently according my mate who was there, with a smug/serene expression on her face
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Sun 3 May 2015, 0:48, Reply)

This is quite dull but it's about politicians innit
1) Charles Kennedy when he was still the youngest MP, at some junket in Dingwall. He seemed a cheery wee soul, very affable, and nowhere near as pissed as I was. Next morning I woke up, not in my hotel room, but in the bed and arms of... no, not Charlie, but a lovely young lady who's name I never found out.

2) Michael fucking Gove, when he was a cub reporter with the Aberdeen Press & Journal. A friend of mine had drowned at sea and somehow MG got my name and number and quizzed me about my pal's life and times. It became clear that he was digging for dirt so I hung up.

3) I voted for Nicol Stephen because I used to know him socially and I thought he needed all the help he could get. I was gobsmacked when a lot of other people also voted for him and he became an MP (Aberdeen South, 2005 - 2008). The fact that he's now Baron Stephen is just amazing (not in a good way).

4) The group RunRig and their retinue used to occasionally brush up against my social circle so I suppose having a drink with Pete Wishart (now SNP MSP for Perth) qualifies as an encounter.

5) I used to do business with a senior member of the House of Lords; after five years he suddenly started to insist that I call him Nigel. This turned out to be a ruse to get me to charge him mate's rates and for him to take forever to pay up. Crafty old twat.

6) Many years ago at a low-key, boring as fuck launch party - something either literary or arty, I can't remember which - I was introduced to Alec Salmond, then one of the SNP's handful of MPs but already getting a reputation as a bit of an operator. He's much less brash and smug in real life, and I was amazed when maybe 15 years later...

7) I met him again at another, higher profile do with all sorts of Scottish sophisticates and social climbers. Not only did he remember who I was and what I did, I ended up doing some work for him when he became First Minister.

8) As a result of which I got invited to SNP fundraisers so I've also met, very briefly, the current Superstar, Nicola Sturgeon, and the other greats such as, erm, John Swinney and Stewart Hosie. Oh, and Angus Robertson.

9) And Sean Connery, but he's not an MP or anything so it doesn't count and now I'm obviously just showing off.

_{10) And I voted No to Independence. Don't tell anyone or I'm dead.}
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Sat 2 May 2015, 18:54, Reply)

Margaret thatched my roof

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Sat 2 May 2015, 17:22, 2 replies)

IDS gave me AIDS

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Sat 2 May 2015, 17:11, 3 replies)

I once saw Gyles Brandreth's cock.
It was in the toilets in Chester at The Grosvenor, I was pretty pie faced and blatantly stared at his bell end.

For the record it was pitted and scarred, a bit cratered like the Dark Side Of The Moon, and from what I could gather he was circumcised, as he never pulled back his foreskin. He may have had some cock-pox in the past, IDK, I'm not a professional cock judge or anything.

He saw me looking and got a bit embarrassed. Finished his piss and left.

I think he wanted a bit of the old sausageing, but was to shy to ask for some. It looked to be about 1.7 inches on the flop, so Mr. Brandreth might be a grower, not a shower for all I know.

He still managed to finish his piss with some knob head mugging at his cock though, which is more than I could probably manage.

Good for him and his ciggie burned japs-eye I say.

Good for him.
(yeswehavenopasties, Sat 2 May 2015, 8:45, 3 replies)

Australia, I have failed you.
Years ago, I was walking up the stairwell of the multi-storey car park in Manly, when the Rt Hon Tony Abbott MP ran past me in the opposite direction. These days he's MP for Warringah and Prime Minister of this fair land, and would obviously have bodyguards with him, but back then he was merely MP for Warringah and leader of the opposition, and was thus on his todd.

He was clearly in a hurry as he was sprinting down the stairs (maybe Rupert had texted to say his arse needed wiping, don't know), whereas I was sauntering upwards in a leisurely fashion, and it was only a few seconds later that I realised I'd missed a golden opportunity to extend a sneaky foot and send the jug-eared twat crashing down a flight of concrete stairs.

Obviously there's no way the resulting catastrophic head trauma could have made him any dumber or any uglier, but I've often wondered whether the months of painful post-surgical rehabilitation might have curtailed his political career somewhat, and steered the fate of the nation in an entirely different direction.

Australia, I have failed you. And I'm sorry.
(Joy Division Oven Gloves Death to false metal, Sat 2 May 2015, 7:31, 5 replies)

Talking to the local Labour representative in West Yorkshire
M, yes. I was living in Slawit in West Yorkshire at the time, working there. Came to meet this guy working for the labour party in my local - and on the subject of Mrs Blair, he uttered that he did ont like her a lot. Fine, I said, I'll email you this animation of her, It's funny. Cue: this is at the time of Crazy frog, which I hate, but Hillarious when somebody had animated her face as Blair frog. He did not think it was very fonneh...
(Holmeuddedal, Fri 1 May 2015, 19:10, 5 replies)

Back in 1990 I was a PC World sales monkey
In walks Edwina Curry herself looking for a new printer so she can continue writing garbage from her home. I promptly directed her to the most expensive HP Laserjet which was going for just over a grand at the time. She was quite happy with it and used her government expenses to pay for it, I was also happy as I earned some commission.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Fri 1 May 2015, 15:54, 11 replies)

I went to the same school as Michael Gove.
A few years after him, like.

Anyway, that teacher wot he wrote that open letter to was my German teacher. To this very day, me and my old school chums use 'future leader of the Conservative party' as a euphemism for 'cunt'.

Haha, private school jollity, you couldn't make it up!
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Fri 1 May 2015, 15:22, 24 replies)

Apologies for being Tory Boy.....
Many years ago I was a young Conservative. I attended a rather fine dinner at a local hotel where Jim Davidson was the entertainment and, just before a general election, we were promised a very special guest to speak.

Jim was quite funny, but did seem to spend most of the night telling jokes about his ex-wife, his heavy drinking and battles with alcohol, and how he felt his demons would eventually ruin his career. Clearly he was tanked up at this point.

Anyway, at the pinaccle of the evening the guest arrived. To a hushed room, the door opened to reveal the high hitting politician just about to fight the election.

"Jeffrey you Cunt", yells Jim. "How the Fuck are you?"

Mr. Archer was not impressed.
(Mong The Merciless Older not wiser, Fri 1 May 2015, 14:51, 2 replies)

When John Major was PM he visited my school
Nothing amusing or of interest happened and we all went about our day as normal.
( Peej, Fri 1 May 2015, 14:48, 4 replies)

William Hague
I went to the same secondary school as William Hague, he once turned up with news crew in tow to do an interview. It just so happened that at the time, we were waiting outside a classroom in a corridor that overlooked the interview and t'old Billy had his back to us - queue a bunch of spotty 14 year olds making every rude gesture we could think of in the direction of the camera.

I thought it was hilarious - however my dad didn't when he spotted me on the news later that week.
(Cow_Tipping_Samurai, Fri 1 May 2015, 13:42, 3 replies)

The door opened and Edwina walked in.
"Haven't you heard of knocking?" said John.
"Oh, John, you're so square." replied Edwina.
Edwina perched herself on the desk edge.
"Whatcha you doing?" she enquired.
"I'm reading some economic proposals," replied John.
Edwina mimed a yawn.
"Look, we don't want another Black Wednesday."
"I'm more of a black Friday person myself."
John looked perturbed. Edwina moved over to John and sat herself down on his lap.
"Do I scare you with my sex talk?" she said as she ran her fingers through his hair.
"Well... errr..." he stuttered.
"You're going grey in the face."
"I know, I can't blush conventionally, something's wrong with my capillaries."
Edwina grabbed his tie and drew herself closer to him.
"Oh, fuck off and do me."
Edwina shoved her hand down John's trousers and kissed him.
"Wow! You certainly have won this erection."
John tried to distance himself.
"Errr...I.. Edwina... I need to finish this document."
"Finish me first. Put your vote in my ballot box you grey faced dull bastard."
"Wha..err... what do you mean?"
"Penetrate me vaginally, John."
They proceeded to make love physically, as was the style of the time.
"I think I'm going to blow my budget," a panicked John remarked.
( $$ ✅, Fri 1 May 2015, 13:27, 11 replies)