A day of high drama. Heart-stopping parliamentary meeting at which Dave put the party on stand-by for an election in October… THIS October!
Ordered everyone to start digging for dirt on Gordon. This would mean certain political death for those supplying the dirt when the Great Clunking Fist found out. Nevertheless it was our solemn duty. The GCF Unit is being headed by Mr Grayling. He was standing in the corner with a face as white as a sheet.
With all the excitement it was clearly no wonder I got confused and told the driver to take Dave to Tottenham instead of Tooting. We were half way across London before someone pointed out that we hadn’t crossed the river yet. Got there an hour late for the Big Re-launch — sorry, I mean ‘key note speech which has been in the diary for months’. Had to push Pops quite heavily out of the way to get to the local candidate, who is seriously yummy. She reckons I broke her toe but she’s exaggerating as usual.
DD totally out of control now Dave’s made him head of this Social Mobility Taskforce. Outrageous scenes when he was given his brief. Nigel said he was like a disgruntled cop called out of retirement to work on one last case which no one else can crack. He made Dave wait for hours before he agreed to do it. Then he strode around Jed’s office saying, ‘This is how it is. My way or the highway. I’m gonna need a car. And some new researchers. I want the pretty blonde one from Latvia with the degree in astrophysics. And some better pens, not the fibre-tips…’ etc., etc. Now Nigel has to tell poor Katerina she’s been sold in a dodgy transfer deal.
Got bored and poked David Miliband on Facebook. Couldn’t find any leading Tories. I don’t think our people have grasped the importance of the web-based social networking revolution.
Everyone strutting their council estate credentials. Wonky Tom now claiming he was raised in an orphanage in Hounslow. This was ruined slightly when Boring James leant over and said, ‘It’s your mother on the phone.’
I am not doing much better. Asked Mummy and Daddy this morning if anyone in our family had ever lived on an estate. Daddy said yes, I had when I was very young. Begged him to tell me all about it. He said, ‘When you were born we were penniless. Had to live with your mother’s crowd. Damned fine estate too. Four hundred acres it was then!’
Have decided my only chance of embodying social mobility is if I marry down. Am going to chat up the man who cleans Sesame’s teeth when he comes on Saturday. He’s divorced and wears a leather apron. Should be ideal.
V. sad day. Poor Katerina begged Nigel to let her off the hook, but it was no use. He told her that if she didn’t agree to go, DD would bring the whole show crashing down around us. We tried to make her feel better by saying how great a service she was doing her party and her country. A lot of other ex-DD researchers formed a guard of honour as she left the building weeping. Which was a nice touch.