I thought I’d better do some mingling. The other day in the cafe there was an elderly man with red trousers on. I thought: I could go up to that man with red trousers and say “Good morning sir. I see you have a pair of red trousers on. I contend that these days elderly men with red trousers vote Breexit. Am I right?” I reassessed. Then I thought, maybe not, it might be misconstrued.
Today in a cafe with some friends there was a reception going on in a side room. I was interested to see whether it was a wedding reception or not. I wanted to ask if it was. Fortunately, I had a four-year-old girl with me, so I forced her to come with me and said she wanted to know what the celebration was about. That was acceptable coming from a four-year-old. It was a wedding. We also asked who the bride was and who the groom was. We were curious. We were mingling.
I did some more mingling last Wednesday where I went to a reception for the opening of the temporary site for the new immigration museum. I went up to a red-headed young woman who was standing alone and said hallo. It turned out she was a Labour candidate for the upcoming general election. Then we had to talk about politics and Jeremy Corbyn whom she kept calling Jeremy. I called him Mr Corbyn back. Later in the evening as I was was mingling with other people I saw her craning her neck, looking longingly in my direction, probably realising a couple of hours after our mingle that I was the best mingler she’d met all night. My feeling is that politicians don’t make great minglers. I can’t say I’d look forward to a mingle with Teresa May either.