Westminster at Christmas has its own particular atmosphere. The lights are a little warmer, the conversations a little looser, and the drinks, especially when politics is involved, flow with suspicious generosity. So it was in this festive spirit that I found myself at the Abbey Road Tory Christmas Drinks, an evening that managed to be equal parts convivial, surreal, and quietly ridiculous.
The event itself was exactly what you’d expect from a Westminster Christmas gathering: a comfortable blur of policy chat, party gossip, and seasonal cheer, punctuated by the clink of glasses and the low hum of people who all seem to know one another already. It was here that I had the pleasure of meeting Gillian Keegan, the former Education Secretary. She was warm, engaging, and refreshingly down-to-earth—proof that not every political conversation has to feel like a panel discussion or a Select Committee hearing.
At the time, I was rather pleased with myself for navigating the room without committing any major social or political faux pas. That sense of confidence, however, would not last.
It was only on the journey home, somewhere between the station platform and the quiet reflection that comes with public transport—that it dawned on me: the person I’d been chatting to earlier in the evening was Sebastian Payne. Yes, that Sebastian Payne. At no point during our conversation had this occurred to me. In my defence, Westminster is a place where journalists, politicians, advisers, and assorted hangers-on all blend into one another, and everyone looks vaguely familiar. Still, realising you’ve been having a perfectly casual conversation with a well-known political journalist without clocking who they are until later is a uniquely humbling experience.
As if that weren’t enough, the evening also featured a raffle, because nothing says “serious political networking” quite like a bit of festive gambling. Earlier on, I had bought a copy of a book by Sir Graham Brady at the event. Somehow, and entirely without my intervention (I’m sure), that very same book ended up as a raffle prize.
When my name was drawn, there was a brief moment of awkwardness. After all, it’s not every day you win a book you technically already own, bought moments earlier in the same room. The solution? The raffle was, shall we say, adjusted so that I won it. A Christmas miracle, if you will, or at least a very Westminster one. I emerged the proud winner of my own book, which felt like a fittingly absurd conclusion to the evening.
All in all, the Abbey Road Tory Christmas Drinks delivered exactly what Westminster does best: unexpected encounters, delayed realisations, and a gentle reminder not to take any of it too seriously. Politics may be earnest, but at Christmas—especially after a drink or two, it’s also gloriously human.
