At the start of the last Conservative era, David Cameron had something “terribly awkward” to ask his deputy, Nick Clegg. “George has for so long had his eye on Dorneywood… He’s very close to me… Would you mind if he used it instead of you?” Clegg concluded: “George Osborne had been measuring up the curtains for years.”

At this point in a counter-factual, Clegg would refuse to concede the grace-and-favour mansion, a furious Osborne, probably raving about storing bagged-up Clegg in his freezer, would be forced to share Chevening with William Hague and, after some sulking, would quit, never to reappear – as triggeringly as ever – on election night 2024. Britain would thus be spared, among Osborne’s many experiments in tormenting the less fortunate, the bedroom tax he said was only fair: “There are 8 million spare rooms across the sector.” Eight million and eight, if you counted Dorneywood.

Instead, in 2010, Clegg conceded and Osborne left nothing to chance. “George and Clegg fighting for Dorneywood,” Osborne’s friend Sasha Swire wrote in her diary, “but then George just drives down there to plant his flag – well, toothbrush to be more precise.”

When did Osborne commit to a political career? Do we date it, in the manner of Jane Austen’s Elizabeth Bennet and Pemberley, from his first seeing the beautiful grounds at Dorneywood? Judge for yourself next year when they open on Wednesday and Thursday afternoons for two months max (booking essential).

In no time at all, the Osbornes joined the Camerons, who had moved into Chequers, and the Swires, gifted........

© The Guardian