An open letter to Oliver Letwin

Just before I hit my 18th birthday, I received a letter from John Redwood, my then-local MP, inviting me to join the Young Conservatives for one evening, where I could celebrate my coming-of-age with a complimentary bottle of champagne. It seems that the local Conservative party had access to the birth-dates and addresses of people in the area. On this occasion, I declined John's kind invitation.

John, however, was nothing if not persistent, and he arrived at our door during canvassing for the 1992 election. On this occasion, we pretended there was no-one in, and peered through the spy-hole at his local party assistants. As they moved off, my Dad heard John say, "Oh well, I don't blame them."

Some years have passed, and I now lie within Oliver Letwin's constituency. Not only that, but I think I might actually be on the electoral roll. There's the local elections coming up this May, and, Oliver, I know it's not a General Election, so you won't be standing yourself, but my birthday is the same day Margaret Thatcher came to power in 1979, and I wouldn't mind a free bottle of champagne to celebrate...