Thank goodness! The Great Wobble of 2010 is over!! Never again will I go to Lanzarote so close to an election. Turns out, there wasn’t a single person doing strategy in my absence. Jed was doing brand detox and message aromatherapy, Gary was doing shouting at the press and Mr Letwin was doing sitting in the loo pretending to write the manifesto, as usual (we really must get a move on with that). Thankfully I’m now getting some help. Sam has been given her own suite of offices and will be reporting to me. Gary and Jed, who had to be moved to accommodate her, are sharing Conference Room B. They sit at opposite ends of a huge table shouting at each other, like a ratty old couple arguing over who should pass the salt. Dave says it’s good for them. They report directly to Gids, who is locked, I mean situated, in the adjoining broom cupboard. We are now a lean, mean election-fighting machine and nothing will distract us from our mission again!
What a cheek — Mr Vaizey is claiming The Recovery is down to him. He says everything turned around after his ‘genius plant’ about Sam voting Labour. Whatever can he mean? That was a gaffe, wasn’t it? I locked him in the Austerity Room myself and rang the anti-bullying line as Gary threw what sounded like heavy objects at his head. Also strange is a memo from Mr Pickles about getting ‘micro-messages to target seat clusters’. I asked him if he meant ‘send out campaign leaflets’, but he said he didn’t know what he meant, it just sounded like the sort of ‘fancy pantsy’ thing Lord A would do. Where is Lord A by the way? Haven’t seen him in days. He must be in the basement, fiddling with Merlin.
Have been listening to super-intellectual programme on Radio 4 about Europe and it transpires that our allies in the Czech Republic are called the Odious Party!! I told Nigel about this crucial piece of research but he said: ‘Not Odious, you fool, O-di-ous.’ Yes, I insisted, that is what I said. Honestly, I do wonder sometimes. Things are really hotting up now. Mr Clarke and Mr Redwood putting the finishing touches to our spending cut plans. We want to free up Gids so he can concentrate on learning the Budget response Mr Clarke has written for him. I know, we’re too good to him, but Dave feels that since he had the decency to offer to be sacked we should reward him by keeping him on a bit longer. Besides, we’re hoping for a wallpaper discount for our planned refurbishment of you-know-where!
Oh dear, I read the memo wrong. I’m reporting to Sam. She came over just now to order me to get her the deficit figures. I’m not sure this is going to work. After all, I’m a seasoned macro-economic strategist and she is, well, a Wag. Evidenced by her rather uncouth shouting during meetings, e.g. ‘Oi Dave! Make your mind up, you look a right plonker!’ I shouldn’t say this, but she sounds a bit like Posh Spice. This bears out my theory that Mrs C is, in fact, a common person pretending to be a posh person pretending to be common. It’s the only explanation.