MONDAY
Apparently the interviews for the A-list of candidates were horrendous. Three of Poppy’s friends, Bunty, Polly and Suzie, went before the panel and said it was like Pop Idol. Bernard Jenkin sitting there with his arms folded like Simon Cowell, Shireen Ritchie all smiles and hugs like Sharon Osbourne.
Mr Flight had the worst time. Bernard barked, ‘Well, what do you do?’ ‘Er, I used to be an MP.’ ‘No no. What do you do? Can you sing, can you dance, are you offering to be sawn in half?’ So Mr Flight — O the horror of it — sang ‘I Am What I Am’. Total silence. Mind you, it got him on the list, didn’t it?
TUESDAY
As part of internal greening measures, have persuaded parents to buy me a new car. Julian, my over-attentive environment spokesman boss, who drives a Jaguar XJS, thinks I could be in trouble if I persist with my Range Rover Vogue.
Daddy is getting to the end of his tether. Says I can have the car, but if he has to put a windmill on the roof of Mallard’s Reach my career can go to hell. He needn’t worry. Wind is so yesterday. Kensington and Chelsea council are refusing permission for the leader’s turbine. Very unsporting.
According to Julian, Dave blew out his cheeks and looked to heaven as though relieved when they gave him the news. When asked whether he wanted to appeal he said he had an urgent appointment with his chakra massage therapist to have his chi unblocked and ran from the room. How odd.
WEDNESDAY
Dave is going on Desert Island Discs, so we all have to decide what songs he likes best. Steve is doing a second focus group now. The first group’s suggestions were all wrong: anything by Tori Amos (some confusion there, I think), Crazy Frog (too Eurosceptic), ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ (too Tory), ‘Jerusalem’ (Middle East — could be tricky), ‘Karma Chameleon’ and some band called The Grateful Dead (oh, very funny).
THURSDAY
Julian and I have meeting with Dave and I grasp nettle. To get noticed I must show that I am Woman of Substance, not trivial office eye-candy. So I ask when we are going to bring out some actual environment policies because I have been rereading Kyoto (nice touch with the ‘re’ reading) and I have some ideas. Dave says ‘What? Oh yeah, that. Yes. Mmm.’
FRIDAY
J is furious because I uttered the p word. ‘We don’t talk about policy, you silly Sloane!’ he shouts, not very inclusively. He says green issues are ‘parked’ and anyway global warming is rubbish because there’s a scientist in Estonia who’s proved that it’s all to do with the movement of the planets and all will be right as rain in 4,000 years. ‘So hardly a matter for the Conservative party!’ Wonder if this means I can go on driving the Vogue?
tamzin.lightwater@spectator.co.uk
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