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It was the 1st May 1997, and myself and a dozen friends were getting drunk. It was the night of the General Election, and all polls pointed towards Labour giving the Tories a thunderous thrashing. To celebrate this we invented a drinking game. Every time a Tory lost a seat, we would have a drink. We knew that we'd be getting pretty drunk, but that night, the Tories lost 166 or so seats, so we moderated the rules a little to major Tories. Despite this precaution, we were blind drunk within two hours of the polls closing. I lived in Glasgow at the time, on Woodlands Terrace, in the tony west end. I lived three doors down from the Scottish Trades Union Congress and along the road from Labour Party HQ (Scotland). It was the latter that drew our attentions that night. After having infuriated all the other people in my building with our uproar, we decided to go on the prowl. This pretty quickly took us to Keir Hardie House, the Labour building. You must remember at this point, that we were way beyond inebriated. We were stinking. So we decided to have some fun. Claiming to be party workers from Aberdeen, we barged in to the inevitable party within. My friend Neil and I were convincing party members of our love of Tony Blair, and our hard work for his victory, brassneck bullshitting. Then Fred decides Tony Blair needs a Hitler moustache, and turns his attentions to the large official portrait at the back of the room. Then Brian decides to fill every pocket he has with canapes and crudites. I believe at this point, A.J. had began to sing The Red Flag loudly and tunelessly, while threatening to drop his trousers. We were about to be asked to leave. Then Fizz saw it. It was a giant bottle of Moet et Chandon, a three and a half foot bottle of expensive French bubbly. I believe the technical term is a Methuzela. My jacket went over the bottle, and Fizz, Neil, Brian and I walked awkwardly to the door with our prize. Out into the street we ran. Straight into a Police Officer. To this day, I do not know how we bluffed my way through that. But we did. An eloquence I've never known since lied our way out of possible jail time and into legend. The next day, I sat in my room and looked at the bottle. I was beginning to sober. The neighbours were at the door yelling. What if the cops did a search for the bottle? There were a lot of students in my building, it was an obvious place to look. How was I to placate my neighbours? So I turned to my neighbours and smiled. I begged their forgiveness, and as a token of my penitence I said. "Perhaps you'd like some champagne?"
N.B. Names have not been changed to protect the socialist reputations of all concerned.
What's your great political crime?
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