The selection

The four candidates drew lots to find out which of us would go on when. I picked the third slot.

The other three candidates were there with their partners - two wives and a husband. They are the really long-suffering ones. All of them had traipsed along to several selection meetings - usually at a weekend, often half the way across the country from home. And their role - to smile sweetly, say nothing controversial and somehow look supportive.

I'd forgotten the natural camaraderie between competing candidates in a final. It's almost as if you were all on the same side rather than pitted against each other. Gallows humour flowed freely. I raised a few eyebrows by wondering if the three of us who weren't successful that night could smuggle a little Polonium-210 into the House of Commons tea room and get the sitting MP among us to administer it to some of his more venerable colleagues' afternoon tea.

An hour later it was my turn. The interviews were being conducted by Michael Brown, former MP for Brigg and Scunthorpe in north Lincolnshire and now a political reporter and columnist for The Independent. Three things stand out. The first was when Michael challenged me to explain how a 'metropolitan tieless Tory' could hope to represent a rural Midlands seat like Grantham and Stamford. This was a bit of a gift as I reminded him - and the audience - that I had spent my entire childhood in the countryside, that my family's home was a small farm in Devon and that, during my short-lived mayoral campaign in London, people had constantly asked how a country bumpkin like me could hope to be Mayor of London!

The second was when the lights went out. Completely. Plunging the entire room into pitchy blackness. Grasping feebly for something to break the tension, I remembered the old cinema ad: 'hang on to your things before somebody else does.' It raised a nervous titter. But not much more.

The third was the end. When I got a warm round of applause and left the room thinking, 'Well, I gave it my best shot."

Hallelujah. My best shot was good enough!

The day of the final

After a week in the constituency, I went back to London the day before the final to get some last minute coaching from the brilliant Graham Davies (www.grahamdavies.co.uk) and then to do a practise interview with a few friends. I was shattered by the end of it and crawled home to bed.

The morning of 5th October, I packed an overnight bag and got an early train to Peterborough where I had left my car. After meeting with a couple of district councillors in Bourne, I drove aimlessly through some of the pretty villages in the heart of the constituency and ended up in the garden of a pub in Corby Glen. I ate a steak and kidney pie in the warm autumn sun and felt strangely calm. I had over four hours to go before I needed to present myself scrubbed and polished and suited and booted at the Mere's Leisure Centre in Grantham. Four hours in which to re-read all of my notes about local issues, in which to run through practice questions, in which to daydream about one day being the MP for Grantham and Stamford.

Or so I thought. Until, all of a sudden, I realised that the jacket I was wearing was not the jacket of my suit, that the jacket of my suit was still hanging on its hanger in the wardrobe in my flat in London. That, in my morning rush, I had picked up the wrong bloody jacket!

A rather different afternoon unfolded. I called my flatmate and found him in the country - itself a bit of a miracle as he spends 20 days a month in Iraq. I explained the situation and begged him to get on his moped, go to Peckham, find my jacket and bring it to King's Cross. I then drove as fast as I safely could to Grantham station and jumped on the next train to London. I arrived in King's Cross shortly after 5, found Damian, picked up the jacket and got on the next train back to Grantham. I arrived in Grantham close to 6.30. I had to be at the leisure centure soon after 7. There was nothing for it. I would have to change in the Gents' Loo on Grantham station. I walked through the doors of the Mere's Leisure Centre at 7.15 and was greeted by Martin Hill, leader of Lincolnshire County Council, and Alistair McGregor, deputy chairman of the association and chairman of the selection process. I was the last of the candidates to arrive. "You're playing it very cool," one of the others said as I was shown into the candidates' room. I smiled weakly and fell gratefully into my seat.

Boles campaign in Bourne and Stamford

After an hour or so in Grantham, we drove down to Bourne. Unfortunately, we forgot to get a photograph done. But the good news is that we bumped into the husband of Linda Neal, the leader of South Kesteven District Council, so, with a bit of luck, rumours of our presence will spread.

Our final stop was Stamford. First, for a pub lunch in the Dolphin pub. Then for a blitz of Broad Street, the High Street and Red Lion Square.

Boles campaign hits Grantham

I also decided to organise a campaign day on Saturday 29th September. Not because I thought that many of the people we bumped into would be likely to attend the open primary. But because it would give me a chance to show that I am able to muster a team of young and energetic supporters in a short space of time and know how to use them to make as big an impact as possible.

I emailed family, friends and former colleagues and was delighted to muster nearly a dozen volunteers. We spent an hour in Grantham - walking the length of the High Street and back through the market on Market Place and Westgate. Simone Finn was unstoppable. Nobody could get within twenty yards of her without having one of my leaflets thrust in their shopping basket, pushchair or mobility scooter!

Here's the team in front of the statue of Grantham's most famous son, Sir Isaac Newton. How long will it be before there is a similar statue to the town's most famous daughter?

Leaflet

Each of the candidates has been asked to prepare a leaflet for distribution at the primary. You can't do much for £200 but I managed to get a couple of thousand of the following designed and printed within 7 days.

Grantham%20leaflet%2027.9.07.pdf

Campaigning in an open primary

Open primaries are a bit of a novelty in British politics. The idea that anyone in a constituency, whatever their political allegiance, should be entitled to a vote in the selection of a particular party's candidate is a controversial one. People worry that opposing parties will pack the final meeting with their supporters and engineer the selection of the most hopeless - or most extreme - candidate. In practise, this doesn't seem to happen - probably because political parties find it hard enough to get their members to take part in the selection of their own candidate let alone their opponents'.

I have always been a big fan of open primaries because, at a time when more and more people seem to find party politics totally offputting, a primary throws open the windows and lets the fresh air in. Most importantly, it sends a strong signal that what really matters to the modern Conservative Party is appealing to the electorate at large and not just the party faithful.

If you find yourself in an open primary in a part of the country which you do not know well, the first question you ask yourself is "How do I campaign?' My first - and best - decision was to skip the party conference in Blackpool on the basis that there would be no votes there. I then decided that with only a fortnight available I needed to focus on making contact with the people who were most likely to attend the open primary meeting. Since we were not going to get access to the list of local party members, I decided to target county and district councillors. I emailed or called them all asking if they could spare me half an hour to share their perspectives on local issues. I set aside a whole week to see as many of them as possible.

Second round

I turn up at the Association offices in Bourne a bit before 9pm. Fuelled by some lasagne from Pizza Express in Stamford - though I was so paranoid about spilling sauce on my shirt that I was hardly able to enjoy it.

My speech goes fluently and is the right length. Phew. But I am last up. They have listened to five others before me. I can see that they are desperate to go home and fix themselves stiff drinks.

I am on the A1 heading south when the call comes through. Like a good boy, I pull into the side of the road before answering. I am through to the final on 5th October.

Wow.