Monday
Tricky times. I’ve got two statements to work on and they’re virtually interchangeable. Am worried Dave will end up urging the FSA to investigate the despicable conduct of Labour peers while calling for City fat cats to be suspended from the House of Lords. Possibly there is some overlap so it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Nevertheless would rather get it right so am off to the Austerity Room for a bit of Fiscal Meditation before I start drafting…
Oh dear. Ken was in there, smoking a big fat cigar, his feet up on the BrightHouse coffee table. He was in v jolly mood, pointing to the posters on the walls and laughing: ‘What’s all this nonsense about babies being born in debt? It’s absolutely ridiculous!’ I set him straight, of course. Told him Britain was facing its worse recession in living memory. ‘Poppycock! It’s not that bad, for heaven’s sake. Cigar?’ Tried to tell him we aren’t allowed to smoke — anywhere, even at home — but before I could get to the end of the sentence he’d shut his eyes and fallen asleep and was trailing ash all over the floor.
Tuesday
Super coverage in the Sun for Dave’s new policy on UFOs. He had to be careful of course. He could only say he was convinced the earth had been visited by aliens. He couldn’t say how he knows — nanu nanu! Over a v jolly lunch at the Italian across the road, Wonky Tom told me he wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t have more of them. Says Mr Grayling has a strange glassy look in his eyes. I said I didn’t think he could be one, he’s too friendly. But Tom pointed out that by now They will have perfected the technique and so will be sending down specimens who are far more realistic than Mr Redwood. He reckons you can tell Mr G is one cos his voice never changes pitch. Anyway, we both agreed it was a huge compliment to be targeted by alien invaders as it shows we are the party They need to get to if They want to be in power. We’re also 12 points ahead in the polls, which is another useful indicator of progress.
Wednesday
Still hungover from yesterday’s lunch. Maybe this is what the government means when it talks about middle-class alcohol abuse. Will drink water for rest of life just in case. And smoothies and cappuccinos, obviously. Mr Clarke in the Austerity Room AGAIN. He was leafing through a policy document. ‘What’s all this nonsense about tax breaks for married couples? Ridiiiculous! You can’t force people to get married. Would you marry me for a hundred quid?’ I said it was neither here nor there whether I would or wouldn’t. But he was only just getting started: ‘And what’s all this about hoodies and chocolate oranges and children’s clothing? Oh dear oh dear, it looks like I’m going to have to get a few things ironed out around here.’
Hope he doesn’t iron out my UFO policy commission. That would be the last straw. If that happened I would definitely have to report him to Jed for breaking the office dress code. (It’s quite clear — serious shoes only, no loafers, suede or slip-ons.)
Thursday
Haven’t had a middle-class drink since Tuesday and am clearly due a treat. So me and Poppy are off to the Troubadour tonight to see if we can spot the newly single Harry. Time is of the essence!
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