To be honest, I’m not sure I would’ve wanted to go. Sat in rows of seats, forced to watch Jacob Rees-Mogg’s ulcerous standup dictionary-waving ‘comedy’ while echoes of “yah, splendid zinger mate” rang out around me, like the tropical birdsong of a Waitrose car park? I’d rather stay at home, thanks. Protect the NHS. But fortunately, I wasn’t even approached by a single member of the Conservative Party for their not-so-conservative, tenuously-labelled ‘party’, so I didn’t have to worry about making some terrible lapse of judgement and going along. It’s difficult though. Despite how shit the party appeared, it seems like loads of people are still a bit jealous, and would’ve gone if they were allowed. FOMO, probably: Fear Of More Obfuscation. And what do you do when you’re partying exclusively but worried other people might sneak their way in? If you’re Priti Patel, it seems, the solution to possible party-crashers is immediate deportation. And for all those people standing outside complai