Leicester Mercury political correspondent
The anatomy of a political rally
It always looks effortless on the evening news. David Cameron rolls into town on his battle bus, makes a roaring speech in front of adoring fans, then off he goes.
The first thing us media types knew about the arrival of the Tory big gun was a call first-thing from the party.
That’s because, as leader of the opposition in a General Election race, David Cameron is a big security risk. In contrast, we knew about Ken Clarke’s arrival a week before he arrived at the Mercury.
The location, details and times for these type of visits are always slightly sketchy. It’s like taking a phone call from a character from The Wire.
We saw David at Loughborough train station, but it was another 20 minutes before he arrived in the town centre. It was in this time that the stage was painstakingly set. Helium-filled balloons on strings are passed into the crowd, local Tory councillors take their place, and party activists don their on-message t-shirts.
People might be disconnected from politics these days, but everyone was interested. Even smirking students – aloof from the political process – couldn’t resist sticking around to see who was about to arrive.
The Tories’ East Midlands press officer – a former regional newspaper news editor – greeted me on arrival and set out the very sketchy plan for the afternoon. Schedules for big events like these seemingly always go pear-shaped.
When the bus pulled up I expected cheers, but the crowd waited for the doors to open and David to step out of the bus before going wild.
It provided an eerie silence before he appeared, almost as if they were hedging their bets in case the doors opened and Michael Howard jumped out in a Dracula costume, dooming the campaign.
You don’t get a feel for that kind of awkwardness unless you’re there. Presumably a press officer took note – get them cheering earlier, next time.
Cameron did a pretty rousing speech in front of the supporters and there is a certain genius in the layout (pictured above) which is the norm for all political parties these days.
The branded bus was the backdrop so no mischief-maker could sneak into shot, supporters surrounded him in a thick semi-circle to block out what many would call real members of the public, and the press men on high provided a barrier to any potential egg hurlers. A solitary Green supporter held up a scrawled message on a piece of A4 paper – Vote Green.
After the speech, we were told he’d have a stroll through the town centre. Three reporters – from the BBC and Loughborough Echo, as well as myself – were invited inside the town hall to wait for David to return.
We were placed into the hands of one of their national press officers. I was then shown through to a room, where inexplicably, Cameron was already sat.
Before I had a chance to consider how on earth he made it there before me, I was in at the deep end and quizzing the man who could be the next Prime Minister.
Finally, for all the talk of CCHQ’s obsessive control over image, we weren’t briefed in advance, asked to steer clear or certain subjects, given a time limit or question quota. I’ve had that experience on other occasions with political reporters, although I usually disregard it.
After the interview I headed out of the town hall. Word was spreading fast through the ranks of photographers that Cameron would be heading over to a butcher’s shop opposite for a bit of a photo opportunity. Could come in handy for a pun in the story, I thought. Ballot box, bangers, there’s got to be something in it. But it turned out to be false.
Instead the police cleared the area outside the town hall and he jumped aboard his coach again, off for the rest of a gruelling campaign.
The full interview is in Tuesday’s Mercury
