Monday
Am going to get to the bottom of this Miliband unit if it’s the last thing I do. There’s something shifty about it, mark my words, although initial investigations are inconclusive. Kept eye on Poppy and James, and when they disappeared off to one of their ‘Special Meetings’ I followed them, crouching behind recycling bins — which, thankfully, are now located throughout the office at a distance of every four paces for the convenience of all staff and in the interests of future generations. They went into a room marked ‘Clearance Level Black Special’ (DD really takes this room-labelling business seriously). Stood outside for ages and couldn’t hear a thing. No talking. No papers rustling. Listened for half an hour, then gave up and went back to desk to finish my press release about Arnie! I can’t think of a pun that doesn’t involve terminating Gordon but have been told in no uncertain terms by Nigel that Mr Schwarzenegger’s appearance at conference is a serious political intervention. And anyway, he won’t ‘be back’, because the Jolly Green Giant only agreed to come after we told him Blackpool was ‘exactly like Las Vegas’, only more expensive (which is half true).
Tuesday
Gids back from hols, and v upset about the Bullingdon business. I’m not surprised. The bar was set so high by Dave’s Bullers photo, and what with widespread comparisons to Spandau Ballet and other New Romantic heart-throbs, it was always going to be difficult for George. Even so, Frodo Baggins is a bit cruel! We shouldn’t have pinned lookalike pics on walls. He’s taken it v badly. After particularly squeaky meeting with Jed it’s been agreed that we draft a statement denying he ever rolled anyone down a hill in a Portaloo. While he may have witnessed an incident involving a portable toilet and a Hungarian count, at no time did he participate in the rolling process and now deeply regrets the inconvenience (tee hee) caused. Personally, I think this is a mistake. If it does come out, surely we should try to turn ‘Toiletgate’ to Gids’ advantage? I mean, aren’t ordinary Britons in town centres up and down the country committing random acts of drunken vandalism with street furniture every Friday night — and doesn’t Gids’ youthful exuberance show he can identify with the misunderstood Asbo generation? Is this or is this not an urban vote winner?! Suggested as much to Jed, but he said the last time he checked, the rest of Britain’s yobs weren’t dressing up in bespoke tailcoats and paying a subscription fee of £15,000 a year to redecorate the walls of Michelin-starred restaurants a delicate new shade called ‘hint of brain’, so he thinks it unlikely they will identify.
Wednesday
Couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. Decided that embarrassing myself was actually less painful than not knowing what was going on with Kill Mil. Half-expected door to be locked, but it wasn’t. Walked in totally unprepared for the sight that greeted me. James was sitting with his feet up on the table reading What Car? magazine and Poppy was sucking frappe latte through a straw while browsing Tatler. Not a wall chart in sight…
Thursday
Everyone v sheepish since I found out the big secret. Jed tried to explain that politics is all about appearances — or ‘Design’, as he calls it. Sometimes you don’t actually have to do anything. Whatever. I’m shattered after writing a pensions backgrounder. I’m off to the Miliband unit for a quick flick through Cosmo and a lie-down.
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