Skip to Content

Diary

Diary of a Notting Hill Nobody

Jed in terrible mood. He’s been like it since last Wednesday when his bicycle broke down on the way to Stamford Bridge

Monday

Jed in terrible mood. He’s been like it since last Wednesday when his bicycle broke down on the way to Stamford Bridge. I must say, I can’t quite work out how a bicycle can break down. I mean, what happens exactly? He had to keep texting the people waiting for him in the corporate billionaires’ box to ask what the score was as he dragged his bike along the street. He never did get there. Bit like a nightmare. Nigel says that sort of thing could turn a less message-focused man against bicycles for life. Scary!

Wonky Tom reckons Jed turned up in a taxi this morning, but nobody saw it, and we can’t be sure. It is crucial that we clarify this. If he did ditch the bike, even once, it could potentially release all of us from our eco-travel obligations and make life so much easier. If we can just catch a glimpse of him getting into a cab!


Mr Maude also in stinky mood. He spent entire weekend trying to get people to Dave’s local election ‘mass’ rally in Swindon. Pictures looked OK in the end, which was great tribute to Special Ops. Just shows what you can do with ten students, a pensioner who thinks she’s waiting for a Daz promotion, and a bit of imagination!

Tuesday

Everyone panicking quite badly about local elections! We are all being sent to target areas, to do what I have no idea. Panic publicly? Nigel says Poppy and I are being sent somewhere crucial, but we don’t know where yet. All we know is it will be a place where we are trailing horrendously, and on the verge of complete wipe-out by the Lib Dems. If Mr Pickles’s exciting wallcharts are correct that could literally mean anywhere — so it’s a packing nightmare, with more than I can reasonably fit into my Anya Hindmarch ‘I’m Not A Plastic Bag’ bag. I do hope it’s not up north. If one is going to be roped into doorknocking it would be a great blessing to be doing it in, say, Surbiton. Not Sheffield.

Wednesday

Am on my way to Sheffield with Poppy. She’s says it’s all fine, she has a Plan B. It involves her friend Spike from university days who’s going to get us tickets for Justin Timberlake at the Hallam Arena! Am not so sure there will be time. Mr Bridges says the future of The Project rests on our shoulders and if there’s not an inspiring breakthrough in our Great Northern Cities we better not show our faces in the hub ever again …

Spent afternoon wandering the streets being shouted at. It’s horrendous. Like a parallel universe. I thought Dave was so popular! Some of these people have never even heard of Compassionate Conservatism. Some of them — amazing, I know — have never heard of Dave. Actually, most of them have never heard of him. Took my rosette off at 3 p.m. and just started dropping leaflets into bins. Got rid of 500 by sundown, then went back to hotel. Rang down for room service but they didn’t have any green tea, or seaweed booster juice, or even brownies. Am just sitting here wondering what it all means, and why no one ever told me what was going on in the outside world. Feel like crying. Poppy not answering her phone. She sent me a text saying she could only get two tickets for Justin so I expect she’s decided not to go. Bet she’s still busy leafleting.


Show comments
Close