Monday
This is typical! I go away for some winter sun in the Canaries with Mummy and come back to find Labour on course to form the next government! One week I was out of the office — one week! — and it’s all gone pear-shaped, or tits up, as Jed is saying. It’s obviously Poppy’s fault, and Mr Grayling’s, double obviously. You can’t blame Dave. I would never have allowed that drowned-rat jogging picture ahead of his speech in Brighton. The British people will stand for many things, but a leader with rain dripping off his nose is not one of them. Ah well, it’s too late now. Better get stuck into putting things right. Have been ordered by Nigel to brief that we ‘couldn’t be more delighted’ that Lord A has finally revealed he is a non-dom. Apparently the revelation that our deputy chairman is dodging millions of pounds of tax is just the boost we needed.
Tuesday
It gets worse. Tom just spent an hour explaining to me why we won’t win even if we are two points ahead in the opinion polls. Why wasn’t I told earlier about this scandal involving a thoroughly corrupt system called ‘first past the post’? Everyone v tense. Terrible row between Gary and Mr Maude with Gary screaming: ‘I suppose you’re happy now!’ Mr Maude was giggling in a weird, hysterical way. ‘I told you, I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t have it. Oh no, you had to have your damned Delivery Unit. We should never have done it! We should never have prepared for g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g…’ I assume he was trying to say government. But Gary shoved him aside and shouted ‘Out of my way’. So I gave Mr M the number for the anti-bullying helpline I’ve been calling. The woman there is so nice.
Wednesday
If Jed tells me to get Mr Clegg on the phone one more time I shall really get quite cross. This is exactly the sort of panicking we must avoid. Besides, I rang him ten times yesterday and he won’t budge. Says he wants ‘lasagne dinner’ at Dave’s with garlic bread and green salad on the side, bottom line. Or some of Dave’s special scrambled eggs (one extra yolk). But that is never going to happen. Not unless we go down another two points. And we won’t, once we unveil our aggressive new campaign slogan: ‘Vote Conservative Or It Will Be Your Fault When The Country Goes To The Dogs You Selfish Idiots.’ Sometimes you just have to lay it on the line to people. Meanwhile we’ve all been ordered to submit a Rescue Plan. Had to rush mine off in two minutes as want to get to the Hobbs sale to pick up one of those blouses Sam’s wearing. So: Bring back DD, make Ken shadow chancellor, ask Mr Redwood for some of his funny spending-cut ideas that people seem to like so much, be nicer to own MPs etc. If I hurry I can pop into Uniqlo as well.
Thursday
V exciting morning helping Gary set up his special committee to monitor Unpatriotic Activities. These include: asking questions about policy; reporting opinion polls as if they were predictions of election result; remarking on Dave’s shiny cheeks; saying ‘willy wobbling’. Unfortunately was called away from this important work by Jed who demanded I submit more details about my stupid rescue proposals. Damn it. He must have noticed I said the first thing that came into my head.
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