Beard Lovers, Soup Bringers and Yes Men.

In the past, I have welcomed the month of May with open arms and frilly undies. This year, however, it has been a bloody nightmare and the sooner it's over the better.

The boss had a few rather stupid ideas about events in the constituency to help him engage with his 

constituents and to make it seem like he's actually doing something. This has resulted in me spending the last few weekends in the constituency because it would be too much for him to do it on a Friday, wouldn't it?

IPSA only allow twelve claims for staff travel to the constituency, per year. At this rate I'm going to be paying for myself by the summer recess.

Then, on top of that, the boss's 'delegation' abroad last week had a small part of me hoping that he might come into contact with Somalian pirates and live in a tent for a few months. 

So all in all I've not had that much time to go home and chillax like a Prime Minister, I have however lost a quarter of a stone so, you know what they say about life and lemons...

A quick skim of W4MP Jobs, as you do, shows that Mike Hancock is looking for a Parliamentary Intern. The preferred candidates must be 'bright and hardworking' and must 'have a sense of humour.' Put beard fetishists down as a hobby/interest and it's a guaranteed win.

Liam Byrne is also hiring both a researcher and office manager. Rebuilds are a bitch, aren't they, Liam?

And one final job I wanted to mention is going at CCHQ - Database Administrator. 'The Database Administrator (DBA) is the custodian of the Party's data.' Ben Howlett need not apply.

Toodles x

14 POINTS AHEAD...

I know it's expected halfway through a Government's term but really, how is this man leading a party 14 points ahead of us?!

On another note, where did the chap in the cardigan go and how do I party with him?

Source of pic here

Rain, Rain Go Away.

The plan had been to do a small favour for someone and drop off a few bundles of leaflets. I rang the door bell about three times, getting increasingly annoyed that no one was answering – it was chucking it down and my umbrella was on it last legs. Eventually the door opened and an old boy, pulling his coat on, greeted me cheerfully. So now I was wet and feeling bad because I had tried to rush an old man who may well have been campaigning for the Tory Party since Macmillan.

“I'm glad you bought a brolly, I've only got the one. We should be done in a few hours and then we can enjoy a nice cuppa tea.” 

Drat. Granddad here thought I was delivering and campaigning with him rather than just dropping off. The urge to correct him with “sorry pops, there's a chocolate cake and bottle of rose back home that needs my attention,” but how could I? Here was an OAP prepared to walk miles in the rain for the cause and I just couldn't look into his friendly eyes and leave him to it. 

So that was how I found myself, wandering in an unfamiliar residential area, in the mist of what felt like a storm. All of my make up had dripped to my jawline and no cigarette had survived more than two puffs before it was cruelly taken away from me by the elements.

“Are you alright, dear?” A little old lady with a trolley asked as I desperately tried to get my lighter to work, in the shelter of a bus stop.

“I've gone out campaigning by mistake!” And then I dropped a bundle of leaflets to the very wet ground with a cry. She walked away pretty darn quickly as I rolled out every cuss word I could remember.

I've always tried to to keep to the rules when wearing a rosette; treat everyone and their property with respect. Don't kick their animals or their children and, even though it might seem like the only way to repeat some of the more sillier party lines, don't be drunk. The bit about the animals is the hardest one if you ask me – anyone who releases their dog with the shout “go get em” deserves to see me kick or swing my handbag at the drooling beasties. Dog slobber stains.

By the end I was seated in a rather musky smelling front room, drinking a perfect cup of tea, listening to the old boy's stories about elections past. Steam rose off my clothes and hair, making me look like a demon from the underworld. I'm scarier than that if you ask a union member, for I am a Tory.

And do you know what, dear readers? I actually had a really good day.

xx

Boobies to The Left of Me, Boobies to The Right

Nothing gets a God fearing Backbencher red in the face like accidentally bumping into them in a tiny lift. With my breasts.

Monday was terrible day. This was probably down to me starting the day out by screaming down my phone at 8am, with a coffee and ciggarette whilst freezing my behind off on the Embankment. It could well have been a scene from Spooks but with an excessive use of the F word. That would never have made it past BBC censors; smoking in a public place, I think not!

A magazine simply called Equility turned up in the post with the rest of the never-ending lobby crap. Aimed at women I believe. Despite being the only female in the office, I felt no need to open or read it. The boss picked it up by the very corner and asked "why are these silly bints sending me things about hairy nipples?"
I could have pointed out that it was a self answering question but why waste my breath.

My dear old boss had another encounter with nipples again when he clinked to read Guido's Daily Star Sunday column. When I asked him what he thought he mumbled "I don't know. I'm too busy trying to stop myself from clinking on the 'Star Babes'." There was a pause before he continued louder. "Do you think it will get past the firewall?"

 And he wonders why he's not running the country.

Return from Flick Mountain

Several weeks have passed since my last post. This must be blamed on the unfortunate business of moving flat and an extended stay at my parents' home. Sheer bloody hell, dear readers. On the plus side I've still been able to get my tush out and campaign for Boris as well as the local elections in the constituency. I was relatively sober for most of it.

Because I am the kind and caring sort, I made sure my family and smashing moving of furniture took place during recess so as not to annoy the boss too much. This means that now everything has settled down and I am able to relax once more in a location not inhabited by those with whom I share blood, it's time for the craziness to start again in Westminster. Thank God.

Toodles, darlings! x

You Can Get Me For Less Than £250,000

I missed a great deal of the weekend due to my beloved bestfriend, the bottle. All I was able to get from the Sundays papers was something about businessmen offering up £250,000, Indecent Proposal style, for a night with David Cameron. In a way this is good news - it means some of the ladies I know are no longer the biggest sluts in the Tory party.

Of course I'm sure that's not what the story was...

In other news I spent most of last week running around London, sweating profusely due to the suddenly hot weather, and looking like an overworked goddess. Why do I do this, why do I run around with a huge handbag and high heels? Why do I go to the effort to wear fitted pencil skirts and tailored shirts only to end up looking like a wrinkled bag lady by the end of it? And finally why do I spend a lifetime doing my hair only to drag it back into a knot with pens and lighters stuck through it?

Because I'm a sucker for attention and praise. Because nothing makes me grin more than getting a smiley face text from a frontbencher. And because I am, in my own way, a big old slut as well. My dear granny would be proud.

My new Total Politics article is online here

Toodles, darlings! x

"I should smother you in your sleep for wasting my time!"

Hugs and kisses to @reporterboy for linking me to this image

I've come to the sad realisation that despite his red hair - Prince Harry may actually be my soul mate. Or, at least, a chap I wouldn't get bored with in less than a month. Drat.

Just consider it dear readers, he and I both like a drink, both like to smoke. I love travelling and having people do things for me. I like to dress up, he needs to never go near a fancy dress shop ever again. I wouldn't mind any silly nights out to a strip bar so long as I get to spend the same amount the next day on shoes.

The world sees William and Kate as the golden couple and by having me beside him, Harry can make his older brother look even better. I can see it now... Someone contact Clarence House!

Speaking of royalty, as one so often does, there was no difference to the security for the Her Majesty's visit today. The Pope and Obama visits were guaranteed fingers probe but I wasn't stopped once on Tuesday. I must be losing my touch.

Good night x