I have a personal confession to make. This leadership campaign might look intriguing but it is, above all, emotionally exhausting.
I have been called a labrador, a pug-nosed gimp, a tosser, a wanker, a piece of shit, a whippersnapper, a YUPPIE, a champagne centrist, a fake, a cunt and a bisexual rapist. My facial expressions have been scrutinized, my dress-sense massacred, my eating habits torn to pieces and the company I keep (mainly female) severly questioned.
Even the compliments are starting to tire me. People can be so repetitive and predictable when they want something in return. I’ve been called young, energetic, a go-getter, a doer, a tried and tested European, a hard-working family man, a father, and a loyal servant of the party. Someone even called me “The Messiah” (which I found a bit much, to be honest).
Somebody once described the business of trying to get elected as “the most wretched fortnight of my manhood.”
I’ll offer a chairmanship to whoever correctly guesses who said that. Promise.
