The Conservative Club, Swindon

I was running down Bath Road toward the Town Gardens for a loop out to the end of the Rail Trail, Wichelstowe, and the Marlborough Road; to my right a large house had a bunch of bunting draped over it and out into the car park…I can’t pass by bunting. The small sign at the door said it was the Conservative Club holding its periodic Open House and Beer Festival (I completely overlooked the giant one hung from the bunting); on the one hand I felt like it might be a betrayal of my roots to go into a Tory stronghold but on the other hand they had beer.

Cheap beer, in fact, or rather good beer at a fair price. And, the guy that signed me in was very nice; in fact, everyone was pleasant especially considering my foul odours, unkempt and barely clothed state, and the fact that I’m a bloody foreigner. I really expected to find the club men played by Harry Enfield, Paul Whitehouse, and Charlie Higson but they were just my neighbours.

“Have a look at this fellow…do you think he’s a quarr?” “Let’s ask Bunny. Oh Bunny, you’re a quarr, aren’t you?” “Oh yes, I’m a dreadful quarr.”

We chatted a bit and the vice-chairman told me quite a bit about the Burderop Hospital site (he worked there for a number of years) that made it sound less hellish than the account I was given a few weeks back. Several members seemed almost embarrassed by Swindon which put me on the defensive, a bit; it is far from perfect but it is also far from the biggest shit hole I’ve lived in (and there are many places on this island that do indeed qualify as such cesspools).

And, they assured me, it is only the Conservative Club in name. I still don’t feel comfortable joining, though…I couldn’t tell anyone if I did.