Just like Heseltine, wild horses won't be able to drag me to the wake in Blackpool

Next week a dispirited army of Tories will meet in Blackpool to lick their wounds, nurse their grievances and allocate blame. Was the worst defeat of the century, suffered on May 1st, the fault of John Major for not being Margaret Thatcher, or of John Redwood for stoking the fires of disloyalty, or of Sir James Goldsmith, whose Referendum Party took many votes which otherwise would have gone to the Tories?

It will also be the first public appearance of the party's new leader, "Just William" Hague, as he is known to those who did not vote for him in the leadership contest in June, or "King Billy" to those 92 shell-shocked Tory MPs who did vote for him.

The franchise ought to have been extended at that time to include MEPs, Tories in the Lords and the members of the party's national executive committee. Had that been the case, Ken Clarke would have romped home.

It will also be the first party conference that I can remember when Michael Heseltine (always the bridesmaid, never the bride) will not attend those appalling annual seaside jamborees held out of season.

Since the death of Iain Macleod, Heseltine has been the best platform orator in the party, and his conference speeches were notable for two things: he would attack, often amusingly, the Labour Party, and he would tell his audience of blue-haired behatted widows about the real world beyond the four walls of the Winter Gardens.

This truth-telling was in vivid contrast to the speeches of the Lilleys, Howards and Portillos, a trio who made unmarried mothers their target, confused NATO with the European Union and, when they thought the press was not looking, accused foreign students of buying their exam results.

As is not well known, the Tory Central Office has sent to each of its paid-up members (250,000?) a loaded ballot form asking the hoipolloi to vote for "Sweet William" and an unspecified alteration to the franchise in any future leadership contest; or simply to vote No. I have dispatched my ballot with a cross firmly in the negative and the name of "Ken Clarke" boldly written in.

I understand that John Major will attend for one day only. Betrayed and traduced by the Euro sceptic wing of the party, he will receive a brief and perfunctory farewell. As he said during the election campaign: "Sometimes I wonder why I bother . . ."

Lady Thatcher, cast in the role of Lady Macbeth, is also expected to attend for one day only. She will undoubtedly be asked to speak, despite her publicly expressed disapproval of Hague and his girlfriend sharing an Imperial hotel bedroom before they are joined by the bonds of Holy Matrimony. (But what else is the Imperial for?). She will patronise Hague, make no mention of her successor and remind the audience at some length of her unique and unrivalled contribution to British life and times.

This will be received rapturously, with stewards having to help those overcome by emotion to leave the hall where they will be revived by a cold wind blowing off the Irish Sea.

Kenneth Clarke who, if there were any justice in this world, should have been chosen as leader of the Tory rump of 165 MPs, has declared his intention to attend, if only to speak at a fringe meeting. I cannot think why he should bother.

The conference will have two high points: the announcement by an aged Cecil Parkinson, the new chairman of the Tory Party - proof, if it were needed, of life after death - of the result of his fancy ballot. He will be helped on to the stage by two brawny Scots Young Tories where, after polite and scattered applause, he will read out the figures. "There have voted Yes for the leadership of Mr Hague, 20,000: the Noes 10,345." Whatever happened to the other 200,000? Could they all be on holiday?

The second high spot of the four-day rally (Tories do not confer, they either celebrate or mope) will be the Leader's Speech on the last day. Wearing his baseball cap back to front, trainers and an anorak, Hague will grasp destiny by the throat. Seven thousand Tories will be given a fleeting glimpse of the future. Whether it will work or not, I have my doubts, but I shall be comfortably seated at home, a glass of the hard stuff at hand, wild horses being unable to drag me to the Blackpool Wake.

Julian Critchley was a Tory MP for 31 years. He retired owing to ill-health at the last election