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Laurie Penny trials Question Time drinking game ... and gets a political hangover

A new drinking game based on the ubiquitous programme gives much away about the robustness of political debate in Westminster.

Like the late, great Douglas Adams's towel-clutching anti-hero Arthur Dent, I never could get the hang of Thursdays. Somehow, most of them end up with me sitting by myself with a ready deadline and a drink of something horrible, shouting at the television. By myself but not, it seems, alone -- because thanks to the magic of the internet, the vicissitudes of modern politics and the boundless capacity of the British to creatively enable one another's alcohol consumption, we now have the cultural phenomenon that is the Question Time drinking game.

It happened like this: the tweeting classes realised that we were all drinking miserably in our living rooms in front of the same long-running political debate show at the same time and it would be much more fun if someone came up with some rules -- so someone did. You can imagine that by the time the show is broadcast -- it's recorded earlier in the evening -- most of the panellists and production team could already be sloshing their way to frantic oblivion, so it's all in good fun.

Dimble Dance

Enough with the preamble: here's how you play. You sit around in front of the telly with epic quantities of corner shop booze and a bunch of friends or, if you're a dynamic young gunslinger like me, by yourself with a bottle of Jameson's and your Twitter feed, and you watch Question Time and imbibe until the staid predictability of mainstream political debate is at all bearable. The rules are subject to amendment, but the principles of the game are sound. While the stirring theme music plays, you down your drink and attempt to do the Dimble Dance, which looks like a cabinet minister having a spasm in an Eighties disco, setting the tone nicely.

You then proceed to drink on the following occasions: every time the veteran chairman, David Dimblebly, attempts to crack a joke. Every time David Dimbleby confuses the gender of a questioner from the audience. Every time David Dimbleby says: "I'm afraid that's all we've got time for". Every time a contributor uses the phrase "political correctness gone mad". Every time a government panellist informs the audience that they "don't really understand what we're trying to do".

You drink again every time a minister blames anything on "the mess Labour left us in", and if the vanishing credibility of this sound bite as an excuse for imposed austerity elicits boos from the audience, which it usually does, you drink twice. This should leave you nicely battered by the time there's a break in questions for Dimbleby to say, with all the confident self-mastery of an Englishman attempting to buy condoms in a Croatian chemist's, "if you'd like to follow us on Twitter, here's our hashtag".

You get to down your drink whenever anyone echoes the sentiment "we're all in this together", or its less cheesy variant "we all have to tighten our belts". This is the most tiresomely enormous lie of our times -- the notion that we've all been living merrily beyond our means and deserve to suffer the consequences together. We may have all been to the same pre-crash party, but some were enjoying the free champagne while the rest of us stood serving drinks and smiling as our money was gambled away.

Now that the inevitable hangover has arrived, it's the rest of us who have to suffer. Meanwhile, our representatives shuffle and equivocate. Unfortunately, the fact that we can have a drinking game based on a few stock platitudes and still be proto-paralytic by the time the credits roll on Question Time says a great deal about the robustness of political debate in Westminster.

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.

Photo: Getty
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Which CLPs are nominating who in the 2016 Labour leadership contest?

The race now moves onto supporting nominations from constituency Labour parties: who will emerge the strongest?

Jeremy Corbyn, the sitting Labour leader, has been challenged by Owen Smith, the MP for Pontypridd. Now that both are on the ballot, constituency Labour parties (CLPs) can give supporting nominations. Although they have no direct consequence on the race, they provide an early indication of how the candidates are doing in the country at large. While CLP meetings are suspended for the duration of the contest, they can meet to plan campaign sessions, prepare for by-elections, and to issue supporting nominations. 

Scottish local parties are organised around Holyrood constituencies, not Westminster constituencies. Some Westminster parties are amalgamated - where they have nominated as a bloc, we have counted them as their seperate constituencies, with the exception of Northern Ireland, where Labour does not stand candidates. To avoid confusion, constitutencies with dual language names are listed in square [] brackets. If the constituency party nominated in last year's leadership race, that preference is indicated in italics.  In addition, we have listed the endorsements of trade unions and other affliates alongside the candidates' names.

Jeremy Corbyn (8)

Clwyd West (did not nominate in 2015)

Folkestone & Hythe (nominated Andy Burnham in 2015)

Lancaster & Fleetwood (nominated Andy Burnham in 2015)

Liverpool West Derby (nominated Andy Burnham in 2015)

Leeds North West (nominated Jeremy Corbyn in 2015)

Milton Keynes North (did not nominate in 2015)

Milton Keynes South (did not nominate in 2015)

Reigate (nominated Yvette Cooper in 2015)

Owen Smith (2)

Richmond Park (nominated Jeremy Corbyn in 2015)

Westminster North (nominated Yvette Coooper in 2015)