Alas, poor Olive! I knew him, Horatio. This should have been Oliver Dowden’s day, his chance to shine. The half-hour when he stepped out of the shadows into glorious sunlight. When the Tory party put aside its differences with one another and cheered him unconditionally. Laughed at his jokes. No one had ever done that previously.
Instead, Olive found himself consigned to the very back of the backbenches, where he could be found trying to engage Jeremy Wright – another outcast – in desultory conversation. They had both been the future once.
