Monday
Mr Grayling is running the show this week. Am exhausted already. Had been hoping to kick back and do a bit of riding. Fat chance with Robocop in charge.
He’s moved on from talking about Jeremy Kyle to The Wire and is obsessed with the idea that Britain is in the grip of urban warfare, that the collapse of civilised life as we know it is upon us, and that we’re all about to die in a savage, drug-fuelled gun-and-knife-crime epidemic. All of which seems to leave him incredibly excitable.
‘Do you think I’ll get on the Ten O’Clock? Do you think I’ll get in front of Libya? Libya’s weeks old now, isn’t it?’ Had to tell him he would be ‘at least as famous as DD’ by the end of the week, it was the only way to get any peace. Otherwise I would just be rewriting his speech to make it a prophecy of Armageddon. I’ve already exhausted the online thesaurus options for ‘brutal’. How tedious.
Tuesday
I do wish Dave hadn’t talked about Sam eating pasta while watching The Wire in his Grazia interview. It just confuses things and makes Mr Grayling even more agitated. He is now terrified that Dave will think he has ‘stolen his metaphor’. Actually wants me to call Dave and explain that he came up with his mention of The Wire before Dave did his interview. Also that he never meant to suggest that the sort of TV shows Sam enjoys with a plate of spaghetti are in any way immoral or based on a ‘horrendous drug world’, as his speech might have inadvertently, or indeed explicitly, implied.
Put my application in for Gosport. V tasteful it was too. Simply sent a glamorous black-and-white photo of me in a little Alice Temperley number and a compliments slip asking Mr Scard to let me know when he wants me to start. Can’t wait!
Wednesday
Dave has sent word that he doesn’t care who uses The Wire. Sam will be in Cosmo next week explaining how she loves nothing more than eating homemade hamburgers while watching Damages. This did not pacify Mr Grayling, who is getting seriously wobbly. It’s been days since he scraped onto the Ten. ‘What if I say parts of Surrey are like the Bronx? Or I could say Birmingham is like Beirut… Hampshire is like Helmand…Kingston-upon-Thames is like Kabul…’ On and on it went. ‘How about “Labour is standing idle while Britain burns… gangs running amok in the streets, old ladies stabbed to death in their beds…”?’ I don’t know where he gets it from. I haven’t been to Epsom for a while but it can’t be that bad.
Thursday
I can’t possibly arrange a meeting between Dave and Andrew Strauss before the England cricket team get to Downing Street and draft another big speech for Mr Grayling. So I will have to do the silly statement warning about an explosion in drug use with addicts desperate for the next fix doing anything to get high. Otherwise Mr G will have some sort of seizure. ‘Come on, come on, hurry up! How long is that going to take you to type? And where’s all that research you said you were going to get? No, not that stuff, the new stuff, the stuff that’s going to get me on the Ten. GET ME THE GOOD STUFF GODAMMIT!’ It is a bit like The Wire around here.
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