The pace with which politics moves is, personally speaking, one of the most exciting things about. It's like Eastenders in the Ivory Tower of power. Every year we have the Christmas Special, the only difference is that it happens in September at the annual conference. The whole family gets together, usually in some seaside resort for some bizarre reason, and all the old feuds rear to the surface over the four days bitchfest.
They bubble away with briefings and coded insults to ensure they don't get barred from the Queen Vic, and then, right near the end, if you're lucky, a Peggy Mitchell or Pauline Fowler slaps someone round the face, pulls some hair, and Christmas ends with everyone buries their differences for another year.
Sometimes, just on occasion, the differences don't get buried though. Sometimes they extend to New Years Eve with the ultimate climax of a main character being brutally murdered in the pub by a fellow member of staff, maybe even their wife. And boy do we love it? We just can't get enough of it, and you know what. The Labour Christmas Special 2008, to be held away from sea in Manchester may just be the best political party Christmas Special since, well, since before I can remember.
Over the past decade the Tory Party has been winning in the Christmas Special ratings wars, but it's now looking likely that the script writers for Labour are stepping up to the plate and saying "No more! For years it was out party that had fire and fierce debate, and we want that mantle back even though it cost us power for long all those years ago".
The question is, where will the fight start? I don't mean the backstabbing and bitching, I mean the end game, that bit before the drums go at the end of Eastenders. Who will swings the slap across the face, who will blink first? The scene is being well set up for a glorious orgy of politically motivated violence, the legal work has been done, the only thing left is the timing for hostile takeover of the soap opera's community pub, a tenancy that changed hands only a year ago, but which has seen the pub's takings drop and more people leave in disgust at the grumpy old landlord.
Will he die (politically)? Will he be buried in the cellar of the drinking establishment? Will he just pack up his bags and walk? Will he have a one-man lock-in and refuse to budge, blaming everyone and anything other than himself for the turnover of the pub taking a nosedive? No one knows. In true soap opera style might we even have a moment where the landlord wakes up and finds the previous leaseholder in the shower, back from the dead?
I don't know about everyone else, but I can't wait to see who does the slapping!