Oh dear. We lost the war of Obama buzzwords at the weekend. Now there’s an inquest to find out how Gordon managed to get compared to Barack before Dave.
Monday
Oh dear. We lost the war of Obama buzzwords at the weekend. Now there’s an inquest to find out how Gordon managed to get compared to Barack before Dave.
I just don’t understand it. All that briefing. All those meticulously written speeches with the mandatory 25 mentions of the word ‘change’.
Jed says we are going to be subject to even tighter rules now. If we can’t be trusted to do a simple bit of rebranding by means of self-regulation, then he will bring in tough sanctions. For starters, we all have to write memos setting out how we personally intend to deliver the headline ‘Camerbama!’
Operation Black Pudding not going too well either. Dave’s been practising all week ahead of his trip Up North tomorrow and he still can’t quite manage to smile when he swallows it. Sherwood, our lifestyle guru, has instructed him to close his eyes and repeat the words Daylesford Organic silently to himself as he’s chewing. Let’s pray it works.
Tuesday
Our super new proposals on prisons are a triumph! Which reminds me, I must take poor Mr Lansley his sandwiches. He’s been locked in the Tranquillity Room for nearly a week now. Leaving aside his ‘Reverse Letwin’ — ‘Spend, spend, spend!’ — I think this is a bit over the top. He promised never to say anything about NHS spending ever, ever again, but Dave didn’t believe him. Plus we either locked him or Foxy up, and Jed says Foxy’s got too many friends who might come looking for him. Whereas poor Mr Lansley doesn’t have any friends at all. Well, only Mrs May, and she wouldn’t make a fuss even if she knew he’d been sitting on a beanbag reading Clinical Diagnostics Quarterly for five days. (He seems perfectly happy. Come to think of it, he hasn’t actually asked to leave. Nigel says it’s possible he thinks he’s waiting for a meeting with Dave to congratulate him. Bless!)
Wednesday
Just got the proofs of our super new ad designed to entice ‘normal’ people to give us money. The idea is we spread our donor base so that we’re not reliant on you-know-who. It’s v. moving. There’s a photo of a trustworthy but worried-looking Tory MP, then the words: ‘You too can sponsor a Conservative. For as little as £1 a day you can make sure a member of the shadow cabinet never has to want for postage stamps or pretty girls to run his office. Just return the enclosed form and make a difference to a frontbencher’s life today!’
Spent afternoon opening mail. More complaints about Boris’s haircut. Put them in Gids’s in-tray. Honestly, what was he thinking when he took him to the barbers?! Now everything hangs on whether we can grow his old hair back in time for polling day. We’ve called in the best from Daniel Galvin but nobody seems to be able to tell us what our chances are. Some sort of weave may be the only hope now.
Thursday
Gah! Poppy and Wonky Tom just received ‘save the date’ cards for Hunky Duncan’s wedding. Pretty sure I haven’t got one. I can’t miss the Civil Partnership of the Year! This may mean I have to finally agree to be Wonky T’s girlfriend so I can go as his Plus One. Nigel says it’s a genius move by Duncan. ‘That man knows how to stave off demotion in a reshuffle. Now he’s got a job for life.’ This is a good point. Maybe I should ask Poppy to take me to the wedding…?
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