David Miliband’s party tips

The key to success? “Get the nibbles in.”

The Labour leadership contender David Miliband has published a six-page guide for supporters on how to throw a house party, which includes such pearls of wisdom as "Get the nibbles in", "Decide on the people you want to invite" and "Invite them".

The guide, part of an attempt to emulate Barack Obama's grass-roots campaign strategy of getting supporters to hold "house meetings" that broaden the candidate's appeal, also includes a suggested timetable for the evening. Hosts are advised to return home from work at 5.30 and "give the place a quick vacuum". Guests will start arriving at 7pm, at which point you must take their coats and "more importantly, get them to fill in the sign-in sheet".

After two whole hours of sex, drugs and nibbles -- and perhaps even a screening of this video address by David Miliband himself -- the party should end at 9pm sharp. "Finish the meeting with a thank you for the commitments people have made," the guide says. (And make sure nobody has passed out in the cupboard under the stairs, no doubt.)

In response to criticism that the guide was "patronising", a spokeswoman for the Mililband campaign told BBC News: "If you want to be leader you need to know how to organise a party . . . It's not a diktat. It's light-hearted. You can tell from the tone of it."

Reports cannot be confirmed that David's brother and fellow leadership contender, Ed, has hired the rock musician Andrew WK -- aka "THE KING OF PARTYING" -- to advise on his own house meeting strategy. Andrew WK's "party tips", which he issues to his followers on Twitter, include the following:

"Life isn't about waiting for the rain to pass. It's about partying hard in the rain and getting wet!"

"Sometimes the best things in life aren't free. GO TO A FASTFOOD RESTAURANT TODAY!"

"Ponder the fact that if your parents hadn't partied, you wouldn't exist."

"Take a giant sea turtle, and gently remove its shell. Then fill the shell with chips and dip!"

And, most importantly:

"Always remember to pleasure yourself."

Grass-roots activists, take note.

Daniel Trilling is the Editor of New Humanist magazine. He was formerly an Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

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The players make their mistakes on the pitch – I make mine on the page

I find that if I watch three live games in a weekend, which often happens, I have totally forgotten the first two by the time the third comes up.

I was a bit humiliated and ashamed and mortified last week because of letters in this magazine about one of my recent columns. Wait till I see the Correspondence editor: there must be loads of nice letters, yet he or she goes and prints not just one, but two picking me up on my mistakes. By the left.

But mainly, my reaction was to laugh. Typical, huh, I’ve gone through life spelling things wrong, with dates dodgy, facts fictional – will I ever learn?

John Lennon did not use a watch. He maintained that he had people on the staff who would tell the time. I don’t wear a watch, either, but for different reasons. I want to get my wrists brown and I hate carrying anything.

By the same milk token, I don’t worry about my spelling. Like Lennon, I expect others to clear up after me. Surely the subs should have spotted it was a typo, that it is 64 years since 1951, not 54 as I wrote? What do they do all day? The other mistake was about replays in the League Cup: too boring to repeat, you would only yawn.

I usually try to get the spelling right the first time I use a word, then bash on, letting it come out any old way, intending to correct it later. Is it Middlesbrough or Middlesborough? Who cares? I’ll check later. Then I forget.

I was so pleased when Patrick Vieira left Arsenal. I found those ten seasons a nightmare, whenever I realised his surname was lumbering into vieiw (I mean “view”). Why couldn’t I memorise it? Mental laziness. The same reason that I don’t know the phone numbers of any of my children, or the correct spelling of my grandchildren’s names, Amarisse and Siena. I have to ask my wife how many Ss and how many Ns. She knows everything. The birthday of every member of the royal family? Go on, ask her.

I might be lazy on piddling stuff such as spelling but I like to think my old brain is still agile. I have three books on the go which are hellishly complicated. I have the frameworks straight in my head but I don’t want to cram anything else in.

It can be a bit embarrassing when writing about football, though. Since sport was invented, fans have been making lists, trotting out facts, showing off their information. As a boy, I was a whizz on the grounds of all 92 League clubs, knew the nicknames of all the clubs. It’s what you did. Comics like Adventure produced pretty colour charts full of such facts. I don’t remember sitting down and learning it all. It just went in, because I wanted it to go in.

Today, the world of football is even madder on stats than it ever was. I blame computers and clever graduates who get taken on by the back pages with nothing else to do but create stats. And TV, with its obsession with possession, as if it meant anything.

I find that if I watch three live games in a weekend, which often happens, I have totally forgotten the first two by the time the third comes up. Not just the score but who was playing. When Wayne Rooney or whoever is breaking records, or not, my eyes go glazed, refusing to take in the figures. When I read that Newcastle are again winless in their first seven League games now, I start turning the pages. If I get asked who won the Cup in 1923, my immediate answer is HowthefeckdoIknow. Hold on, I do know that. It was the first Cup final at Wembley, won by Bolton Wanderers. I remember that, having been there. I don’t know the dates of any other Cup final winners. England’s World Cup win? That was 1966 and I really was there.

I love football history (I’ve written three books about it) but it’s the players and the history of the clubs, the boots and strips, development in the laws, that’s what I enjoy knowing. Spellings and dates – hmm, I do always have to think. Did the Football League begin in 1888 or 1885? If I pause for half a second, I can work it out. Professional football came in first, which must have been 1885, so the Football League came later. Thus the answer is 1888. Bingo. Got it.

But more often than not, I guess, or leave it out. So, sorry about those mistakes. And if you’ve spotted any today, do keep it to yourself. 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 01 October 2015 issue of the New Statesman, The Tory tide