Round Up

As this is my 100th post I thought I would share some of my favourite diary entries from the last year. Yes, I could post other people's posts but that would take too long and, at this time of year, the window of sobriety is a small one.

Brick, Cash and Hookers

Dear Boss...

Felicity in The Park: TUC Rally

Rachel, Sambuca and a Rickshaw

Calm Down Dear

Money, monday, monday

Tweet, Tweet My Sweet

Once Again I Am Surrounded By Men

Normal Programming Has Resumed

Roll on 2012. X

Ban Cheap Political Stunts Instead

And I said stunts! Honestly, you lot...

Should cheap drink be banned? Will it make a blind bit of difference to our city centres and high streets? Is it right that we have a Conservative PM pushing forward this sort of thing even though he was quite happy to make a tit of himself by drunkenly throwing up in a friend's room whilst a student?

The answer to each and every one is simply: no.

Empty Sacks All Round

I don't know about anyone else's Christmas but mine was a doozie. Christmas Eve was spent watching my flatmate interrogate the chap I’ve been seeing.

“What are you intentions?”

“I don't have any!”

“Bullcrap, I'll say again: what are your intentions towards Flick?”

“To give her anything she wants?”

“What if she wants a PS3 and Battlefield 3?”

“Is that what she wants?”

“Answer the question!”

“Yes, yes!”

“In that case you have my blessing.”

I needn't point out that my flatmate is a git. The last thing you need when you plan to slow down, if not stop a relationship is someone like him sticking his end in. Of course I expect my male readers to sympathise with my 'situation' more than my female readers.

The 'situation' sorted itself when I finally met the chap's parents later that day. It turns out that I'm a crude, ghastly drunk who was attempting to sully their only child. At least that's what they told him when they thought I was out of ear shot just before we left. I know he was tempted to tell his parents to get stuffed and be a rebel but I also know what a mummy's boy he is. 

This is image is being used ironically because I don't care.

All I can say dear readers is phew! He was a lovely chap but I have no desire to be an MP's wife or in this case, a wannabe MP's wife and that's precisely where this would have ended up if it hadn't been snuffed out; with commitment, responsibility and partnership. All those terrible things that can happen if you embrace adulthood. No thanks. Indeed, I'm now footloose and free as we see in 2012. 

Toodles x

Merry Christmas and all that rot!

I know it's early but, dear readers, if you're anything like me you've had a bottle to hand since 1st December.

Christmas cards went out today and if you didn't get one it's either because I don't like you, I like you too much or I simply ran out of my wonderful cards. Take your pick.

Despite the best attempts of a few, this blog has been going for nearly a year now. For 2012 to be even more fun, I'm going to need each and every one of you. I hope you're all up to the task!

Hugs and kisses x

No Rest For The Wicked

Can someone tell me why I am still at work? It's 8:15pm at the time of writing and I could be in the Sports, in the M.O.G or at home enjoying a facial and a leg wax. I've been stuck at my desk for so many hours that when I rolled over to the filing cabinet and back, I knew the boss had, while my back was turned, moved something on my desk.

"What did you just do?"

"Grabbed a paperclip off your desk. S'not a crime, is it?"

"What's wrong with the box of clips in your drawer?"

"I prefer not to use those to pick the food out of my teeth."

"Oh delightful..."

Today I learnt that it's not okay to laugh when an MP falls out of a lift and that Alan Johnson will hold the door open for you but Ed Miliband won't even try. This, I feel, sums up Labour's problem. 

 

My Non-Job Award goes to this little gem - ME, Diversity and Faith Community Engagement and Campaigning Advisor. No, it's not union based or a Labour run Council position but rather a cushty little job over at CCHQ. I despair.

Thursday evening sees the CIPR PA Annual Parliamentary Researchers Reception and attendees can vote in the 'CIPR PA Westminster Researcher of the Year Award where nominations will be invited to identify the most hard-working and talented member of staff working in a parliamentary office in Westminster.'

Now I'm not going to suggest that you should nominate me because I'm any good at my job. No, rather to annoy all those who actually think the award should go to them. So if you're going and wish to piss someone off, VOTE FLICK! 

I shall now retire. Home is where my flatmate's warm beer and cold pizza wait for me. 

Good night x

A Whore in The Kitchen and a Cook in The Bedroom

For those of you who haven't seen my latest post over at Total Politics you can read it here. 

At the weekend I made an effort to cook. And I'm not just talking about toast or reheating something my flatmate cooked, no I mean a proper dinner with starters and deserts. Why would I waste a perfectly good Saturday in my kitchen when it could be spent shopping, sleeping or catching up on Merlin? Because of a man.

I'm waiting for the Sisterhood to moan about what they will see as a man domesticating a woman but they should wait until the end.

For the purpose of this diary I will call the man in question John. I met John recently and due to his tall stature, broad shoulders and handsome, chiselled features, I decided that he needed to get his cute little behind into my bedroom pronto. Mix in that he's a Tory and a well paid nerd and we have a winning combination. Congratulation John, you have been selected for a few rounds of Felicity frolics!

I don't have a problem asking men out, life is too short to play the maiden so inviting John around to mine for dinner was pretty straight forward. “Hmm yeah, that's very interesting. You know, I think you should have dinner at mine at the weekend. That way you get to try my rather excellent cooking and I get to learn more about what you do for a living. It would make for an interesting evening don't you think?” 99% success rate with that one. Never mind the fact I can't cook nor did I find any interest in cloud computing. All I know is that my dining table is within staggering distance to my bedroom.

I should have known my plans would go awry when I woke up on my friend's sofa at 11am, Saturday morning, the karaoke machine still buzzing away and a Simon Cowell mask sellotaped to my face. John would be at mine in eight hours and in my hungover state I knew this would not be enough time to shop for ingredients, cook, clean the flat and tart myself up. Had I learned nothing from all those hours watching Come Dine With Me? Something had to be sacrificed and it was to be the shopping.

A decision I later came to regret when the can of cream of mushroom soup in the back of the cupboard turned out to be cream chicken and mushroom and rather than having cream cheese to add to my beef stroganoff, I had to substitute with Dairylea triangles. Thankfully there was more than enough alcohol in the flat to keep me lubricated while hoovering and hair curling. The stroganoff looked like baby sick, the salad starter had wine spilt on it and I'd eaten half the desert ice cream. But dear readers, I looked amazing and I felt as smug as Speaker Bercow no doubt does when he's walking past tourists in the Central Lobby so I cared not a jot.

On the night I had asked John out, I had been so concerned with trying to work out what he would look like without his clothes on that I hadn't paid all that much attention to what he'd said. After 30 minutes of his arrival at mine I was bored. He was a lovely chap with a cute smile but the personality never expanded beyond agreeing with everything David Cameron said and programming software. Did I think the Big Society would have benefited from a name change? Should Conservative Future stick with the same Chairman? Should CCHQ stick with Merlin or find another system? I perked up at that point until I realised we weren't talking about knights and wizards. With a sigh I knocked back another glass.

I'd had enough at this point and promptly told him to help me get the ice cream from the kitchen. My kitchen is tiny and it's hard for two people to move around in there. To cut a long story short I was up against the fridge quite quickly and John, thankfully, wasn't talking anymore.

Was it worth it? Yes and no. Sadly any hopes I had had of uncovering a rampant sex god under the pleasant, introverted surface were dashed when he climbed onto my bed wearing nothing but his socks, and declaring “Landslide victory!” at the end of any intimate encounter should be made illegal. I won't use this post as a platform to criticise the man's technique cough-stamina-cough but I will confirm that afterwards I told him he had 15 minutes to get his breath back and then I would be taking over. No ifs, no buts. And as predicted: he did look gooood without a stitch on.

I have a sneaking suspicion he's going to ask me out to lunch in the coming weeks so maybe there's room for potential but only if he's prepared to sit through 'Felicity's guide to doing bad things in good ways' lesson.

After all - 'If you want something said, ask a man...if you want something done, ask a woman.'

Toodles! x

'Oh fancy that – I'm eye level with your zipper...'

Surely a Minister such as Alan Duncan would have a key to his own office? The poor lamb was left waiting in the hallway for a member of staff to let him in the other day. I like Alan; he has always been polite and kind whenever we have crossed paths. So I say with affection Alan, dear, do carry a key.

We had problems with office equipment this week. To say the chap sent to fix it was a hunk is an understatement. I need to break things more often! I wish I could say I didn't gawk as he bent over the desk to play with plugs but that would make me a big fat liar and my dear old gran told me to never lie about perving over men. After all they make no secret of when they do it to us so why spare their blushes? Equality for all!

'What's that, you need help with the packaging? Well of course. Just let me hike my skirt up a bit before I kneel down. Oh fancy that – I'm eye level with your zipper...'

And that's when the boss came back, grumbling about the low standard of debate in the chamber. Not a word was said about him finding me in a questionable position in the middle of the office but then that's the beauty of working for an old school MP.

Toodles! x

Stand and Deliver Your Money or Your Life!

I am now engaged in an office share. I don't like it. That's the problem with the Houses of Parliament – any spare space must be used, even if it's a spare desk in a grotty office. The other staffer who has come to join us is what I would call a Matron and very nice but she doesn't stop talking. Ever. Even when I had my head phones in and watching The Iron Lady trailer she rolled her chair next to mine and proceeded to give a running commentary. All in all it's made the boss a bit tetchy...

“It's not at the top of my list today but if I cross paths with Shagger Mercer, I am going to have words!”

“Over the Cameron comments?”

“Oh indeed.”

*heavy pause* “You have said worse...”

“Yes but either in private or to the man's face! You don't say things like that about the Prime Minster in public. It's the rules, Felicity dear.”

In the House of Lords, first floor over at the West Front, is a notice board full of union leaflets. It's the usual thing about cuts and George Osborne dressed as a highwayman. The boss and I had to walk past it today and the old boy growled. “It's a bloody disgrace!” I watched him look up and down the corridor shifty like. “You'll get caught,” I muttered, “just like the time you tried to take down the PCS Union poster near the post room and by the by - I can NOT run in these heels.” Thankfully he let it go and lunch was enjoyed by all.

An invite came in today for an event campaigning for the 'Criminalisation of Aggressive War'. What a bloody stupid campaign. Oh yes we're against aggressive war but passive war? Get stuck in sunshine!' I'm not sure why but that was said in an Eric Idle sort of voice. I think I need sleep. It has been a long week... What day is it tomorrow? Oh sod it.

Goodnight x

Insert Your Joke About A Wet Pussy Here

For a while now I have been meaning to write something about the Eurozone crisis but every time I start, I find myself getting bored very quickly. I can only put this down to a lack of financial experience, understanding of a dependant, socialist mind and the fact that Osborne is currently in my bad books.

But what I do know is this – I would never use my credit card to pay for my friends drinks on a night out. This is because I know the lazy bastards would never pay me back and most likely crash at my flat after, empty my fridge and traumatise my flatmate's cat by mistaking my wardrobe for a toilet again. Thus leaving me even further out of pocket. 

So whilst I am happy to pay for my rounds I will always put my foot down and say “no, no, no” when the sob story starts.

“I may be a caring, compassionate conservative but if you want the money to have a night out and forget that you caught the clap from a girl whose cherry you thought you were taking, then might I suggest you try writing a poignant, heartfelt song about STDs in the hope that Simon Cowell gives a shit because I don't. Now go away and so I can chat up this barman in peace!”

That's not something I can see Cameron or Osborne saying to the EU anytime soon but I think the intention should certainly be the same.

Redistribute the Horror

People keep asking me if I dressed as Baroness Thatcher for the halloween party I attended at the weekend. Why would I want to do that? Halloween is about dressing up as something terrifying or inhuman and as much as Liverpool likes to think Mrs T clawed her way up from the fiery depths, I wasn't going to dress as her for a piss up in North London.

I went as Polly Toynbee instead and I'm rather annoyed no one got it. I even had the silly necklace, bottle of Tuscan olive oil and a champagne flute. I despair, I really do.

The Beard Should Have Been A Clue

Scratch scratch!

 I know that Mike Hancock has been getting messages telling him to get himself down to a clinic. Surely staffers have many things to be getting on with at the moment, even the Lib Dem staffers?

Once upon a time, I knew an entire 5-a-side football team who caught something from the same girl. And yet somehow my mother still thinks my sister is the 'good daughter'...

When is a SpAd not a SpAd? When it's written on their business card!

Clenchy Monday

There's a very strange vibe on the estate today, a real kind of tension in the Tory camp. It's like everyone is clenching and unclenching their fists as they walk and talk. Speaking of fists - has Carswell been involved in any other arguments after the fun of last Thursday? Discretion is sometimes needed, chaps.

The boss has taken to tapping the sharpe end of the letter opener on his desk. I'm expecting to walk in at some point and find him carving live free or die into the surface. When Facilities see the mess he's making, it will be me that has to make the excuses. Just like the time he was caught drawing taches onto posters in the constituency office.

I do have a confession to make and I'm not proud of myself. I quite literally bumped into Speaker Bercow in a corridor and as my brain processed the nomal suit and bowling walk, I thought 'hellooooo!' which was quickly followed by 'oh dear god, Flick, you really are one smile away from dry humping the furniture!'

Toodles x

"Rebel, rebel your face is a mess"

For most of Thursday afternoon my boss and I pondered the PM's decision to act like such an arse. He could have allowed a free vote and quietly spoke to rebels as and when he needed. He could have let them blow off the steam in a vote and then kicked everything into the long grass. Either way the vote wouldn't have to be acted on soon, if at all. But instead Cameron has gone in a bit too heavy handed. It all makes me wonder what Steve Hilton has said on the whole thing.

Those MPs who will rebel are unlikely to change their minds. Some will have been very loyal up until now but for many: the EU is the line in the sand.

I left the boss biting his nails, still caught between confusion and anger. Confusion around the PM's motives and angry at Eustice's amendment email. There was no need to ask my boss how he will vote.

Goodnight. x

Hello, is it me you're looking for...

The office phone rang before I had a chance to log in to my pc on Tuesday morning. I only answered it because I could see from the display that it wasn't from the constituency. Calling me before I've had my coffee and then staying silent on the line is a guaranteed way of pissing me off. I knew there was someone there as I could hear background noise and after saying "Hello" twice I put the phone down.
It happened eleven more times throughout the morning and I became more and more aggressive with each one. By lunch time I had reached "Look, if this doesn't stop I'll give your number to police so they can find you and kick your family pet. I'm sure you've got better things to do and if you haven't, might I suggest you use this time to look for a job. Goodbye!"

That seemed to work for a good few hours, until another call came through on the same number mid afternoon. However this time there was someone there, someone from the CSA. I didn't bother asking if they had trouble with their phone lines, I just hope my pet threat hadn't been recorded. 

There's a wiff in the air and it is definitely the smell of euroscepticism. It's invigorating! There's shenanigans afoot on the backbenches and if Dave isn't careful he's going to find himself surrounded.

Nearly time for PMQs again. I wonder if Ed can build on his success from last week?

Oddbins and Offended Pot Plants

The photos of Oliver Letwin dumping paperwork into a park bin caused a great deal of giggling in my office. It's general knowledge that Letwin should never be allowed to do anything without a babysitter. Yes, he's a very smart chap but there's a distinct lack of common sense or awareness. You only have to ask a few knowledgeable folk about his confusion to Cameron's 'Twatgate' to find that out.

What is this word 'twat' which you speak of?

I'm sure most MPs wish they could dump some of the more hysterical constituency paperwork into a bin. Maybe set fire to it. Perhaps after they have ripped it into a hundred pieces and poured coffee over said paperwork. But very few of them would actually do it, let alone in a public park with witnesses!

The boss wasn't all that surprised when Dr Fox threw in the towel. As Sky News announced it as breaking news, I'd given the old sod a call.

“He's gone and it had nothing to do with the shocking shirt he wore to his birthday party.”

“Damn shame but it was the only way.”

“Who do you think will replace him?”

“It won't be me,” long pause, “not after what I said to Cameron at conference.”

“Are you sure it was him you spoke to because you were threatening a pot plant in the Midland at one point.”

“We agreed not to speak about that!”

Normal Programming Has Resumed

I don't know about everyone else but I do wonder why I spent several days in Manchester. It was lovely to see so many people and catch up but I didn't actually do anything other than drink, bitch, gossip and occasionally getting lost. One doesn't have to go to happy, cheerful Manchester for that.

The journey there was very much like travelling with the ferryman to the other side: a long, fearful journey filled with the ramblings of an old bastard, to a destination which may very well be hell. Thankfully, after a while my boss had fallen asleep. I say thankfully - this did mean I had to repeatedly apologise to other passengers for his snoring and occasionally mutterings of "You bloody dwarf, that's a cape!" I considered using half of my chicken caesar wrap to muffle the sounds but this plan had a high chance of failure, as well as death.

Apart from the chicken wrap, the only other real food I ate in Manchester was at the Love Luton reception. Real food, drink and music! I felt very spoilt. Everything is hazy after that but I do know that I had an argument with a teenage nerd, in the main lounge area in the Midland, about who would win in a knife fight - Jeff Randall or Adam Boulton.

A few obvious rules to surviving a party conference:

1. Pack lightly. Men can get away with taking only one suit, four shirts and three ties to conference. Women bring their entire wardrobe and then complain that they can't drag their suitcases to and from the hotel
2. If an event or reception has the words 'Future' or 'Regional' in it's title then be prepared to walk in, slam two glass of free wine and walk straight back out again. Don't feel bad for the old 'Drink and Run' routine, you're saving yourself from an excruciating hour of dull, patronising chat. Focus on the wine and then move on
3. Food must be considered. Don't rely on crap canapés - mini pizzas or meat on a stick is the way to go, not sushi or carrot sticks. Unless you're a whinging vegetarian or a mad as f**k health enthusiast, there's no reason for you not to fill your gills with fatty, stodgy food if it crosses your path
4. Don't bother with the leader's speech. Only pole climbers, stalkers and pensioners queue up for hours to see a leader's speech. It will be all over the media after and you can still get a sense of cringing embarrassment via the TV
5. Even if you're not a smoker, always check out the smoking area of a hotel in the early hours of the morning if you're passing by. You're almost always guaranteed to spot at least one MP doing something they shouldn't be doing with someone one half their age
6. When merely hanging out with friends and associates, try not to name drop or brag about your conference encounters too often. Those around you will be rolling their eyes as soon as you look away. Yes, yes you've shaken William Hague's hand, congrats!
7. Always give yourself fifteen hours after leaving the conference before heading back to work. Passing out for three or four nights in a row does not count as sleep. If you get back to your desk too soon, you may as well throw you computer out of the window for all the work you'll get done

The recess and conference season is over, bring out your dead! The toil and strife of everyday life in Westminster will continue and normal progamming has resumed.

Will Ken Clarke continue his battle with everyone else in the Cabinet? Will Chris Huhne give up all pretense and start communicating with just "vroom vrooms"? And will Dr Fox begin his statement with "Now everyone has a friend who takes the piss and hangs on your coattails..."

It's good to be back.

Once Again I Am Surrounded By Men

My return is imminent and I know how much this will anger some people. The less bitter majority of you, however, will hopefully cheer. Hurrah!

The results for the Total Politics Blog Awards 2011 have been slowly drip dripped on us all and I am very proud to have been included.

This little diary has made the Top 50 right-wing blogs and Top 10 Conservative bloggers. In both cases I appear to be the highest positioned sole female on the list. As the great Lady herself once said - "I owe nothing to Women's Lib."

Thank you to everyone who voted, you make it all worthwhile. x

Diary Recess

Dear readers, I've been struggling with something for the last few days but I've finally come to a decision.

In this quiet period that is recess, I am taking some time off from blogging. It won't be for long, possibly until the House comes back in September, perhaps until Tory party conference. 

There are a number of possible reasons for this - I'm getting married, I've been fired, I'm checking into the Priory or maybe I'm taking a long trip around South America as a bounty hunter in order to pay back a man who once saved my life. 

 

Either way it's going to go quiet on here for a little while. I will still tweet but not to my usual extent so do tweet or DM me and I will always enjoy reading your emails.

This is not goodbye as I WILL be back and my return will mean posts from the heart of conference land, undercover action against crazy lefties and most likely a thousand word long rant about why Sally Bercow shouldn't have won Big Brother. 

This doesn't mean you can't vote for me though.

Toodles for now. x

Tweet Tweet, My Sweet

It’s been subdued around Westminster for the last week or so. Everyone has seemed almost afraid to make too much noise. Unlike many, those who work on the Estate are used to seeing men and women heavily armed and ready to shoot the next Greenpeace protestor off the roof at a moment’s notice or the occasional riot on our doorstep. But the footage that we have all seen since last weekend will still have shaken and enraged a great deal many people.

As a Tory I am all for strong policing and robust responses but I was not happy with the PM after this.

“So we are working with the Police, the intelligence services and industry to look at whether it would be right to stop people communicating via these websites (twitter/facebook) and services (BBM) when we know they are plotting violence, disorder and criminality. I have also asked the police if they need any other new powers.”

It’s lazy and misleading to lay this at the door of social networks, not to mention damn hypocritical after our criticism of social media censorship in other countries. Individuals determined to cause trouble will always find a way to communicate their intensions, the police should be using social media as a tool to locate and anticipate the violence and those causing it. Those who are saying that closing Twitter for a few hours, during major riots, is ‘common sense’ are talking out of their arses. The benefits of such a network have been noted again and again.

You could almost hear a collective sigh when the PM announced that Parliament would be recalled and the Whips were quick to send out an email confirming that suitable food would be available for Members. Waste of time and money if you ask me.

The boss wasn’t at all impressed with the Government’s response and on more than one occasion I heard him muttering something about the Bullingdon Club under his breath.
He flies off on his hols this weekend and is exceptionally smug about having booked it later than most.

It was nice to see everyone back in their office best, anything to stop Denis MacShane from walking around the Estate in hippy sandals and a bright red check shirt. My eyes!

Toodles x

For One Day Only

Drat...

Agony Aunts and The Total Politics Blog Awards 2011

Those who follow me on twitter will know I floated the idea of being an Agony Aunt. This has had a good response so far but I'm keeping the deadline open a little while longer to get as many problems and questions as possible.
So if you have a problem or issue that requires ineffective and pointless advice, you can email felicityparkes@gmail.com!

Should any dear readers wish to nominate this little blog or me as an individual then that would be just smashing!

Total Politics Blog Awards 2011

Toodles! x

All Work and No Drink Makes Flick a Bored Bag Carrier

We've reached that stage now where the portraits have been taken off the walls and the carpets has been pulled up to be cleaned. It's the same every summer recess. This means that most of the bods walking about are butch, sweaty men with stubble. Wink wink!

All the food stops at 3pm and the place is deserted by 6pm. I've also learned recently that if you stand still for too long, a police sniffer dog will try shagging your leg.

The few MPs who are making the trip into Westminster, bring their children in with them. Every time I've seen Mr Speaker he has been acting as babysitter. The poor chap looks very tired. Do let him have a night off, Sally!

The worst thing though is the silence in the evening. I know many of you will be asking “just what the heck are you doing on the estate in the evening, Felicity?” Not drinking, that's what! Summer recess means no more receptions or lobby events. It's all 'buy your own wine' until September. Ghastly state of affairs.

Grannie was such a slag...

It amazes me that the weather should turn just as I get the office fan working again. (Yes, I am quite the dab hand at fixing things.) I'm sure the one or two nudists in Parliament (and you know who you are) enjoyed the heatwave but the rest of us, those still bound by a few social boundaries, just had to sweat it out.

My plan is still on course - nearly all lobby letters have gone out and the constituency work is just about up to date. At this rate I will be finished by Monday!

Toodles! x

Monkey Nipples, Chinese and Somerset.

I thought I was being so clever getting into work at 8am with the plan to work my behind off and then skip out the door again at 3pm. This must have been glaringly obvious to the boss when I opened the office door and whispered "Oh...monkey nipples" as I saw found him sat behind his desk.
He could have signed the letters and left knowing full well that we all had work to do but instead he sat there loudly reading from his stack of newspapers and occasionally adding to my to-do list.

 
At 4pm, after throwing seventeen rolled up bits of paper into my hair and eventually boring even himself, he left.

It was dark by the time I got home Monday night. In fact I am writing this on the floor of my living room. Chinese take away on one side, wine and cigarette on the other. Next door my flatmate appears to be 'trying something new' with his girlfiend. I do believe that's the polite term for it anyway.

The boss is opening a new football pitch in the constituency this weekend and I really should be writing the five minute speech that he's asked for. I'm thinking up bad puns to use in between mouthfuls of noodles and smoke. Greasy, tarry goodness...

Posts have been thin on the ground recently due to my brilliant idea of getting all the important work done and completed before the end of the first week in August. Thus ensuring that I spend the rest of recess, drunk on the Terrace. There I shall lounge like an Somerset MP!

Of course when I had the chance, I wrote one or two posts for Total Politics. Don't worry, you won't find anything analytical or cerebral from me as per usual. Posts are here and here.

 Anyway, toodles and goodnight! Let's all keep our fingers crossed for those growth figures, shall we?

Across Westminster the scene is pretty much...

The hacks are coming out of the walls!

Walk Away or Stick My Arm In?

If I could change one thing on the Westminster Estate, apart from a bar which allows smoking, it would be to have most post boxes. There are quite a few sprinkled about the place in dark corners and corridors but more would helpful. 

In case any of my dear readers haven't been on the Estate then let me describe a parliamentary postbox to you - small brown, wooden boxes with a slit on the top and a gold plaque which says either 'External' or 'Internal'. There's never enough of the latter around and sometimes I will put all the internals to one side for when I have to take something down to the Chamber. There's an internal box between the Speaker's chair and Dave's office. I don't recommend doing this when the division bell rings.

Anyway, I was dropping off a bundle of envelopes in the external box only to then remember that each of the the forty odd letters were meant to have a second page enclosed. Disaster! I had a choice: put the last few in the box and walk away whistling or try to pull them out and run back to the office. I went with the second option but only because the postie had been and gone only moments before I had arrived. Mine were the only letters in there so it should have been easy...

Ten minutes later I still had my arm in the box, jammed at the elbow as I had reached for the last b*stard cream envelope. 

I thank my lucky stars that the policeman who happened upon me was one of the nice ones who between giggles helped me escape.

“You're doing a fine job,” he said as he twisted my arm slighted to make more room.

“Yes, I should have been a bloody vet!” He was still laughing as I walked away embarrassed.

Toodles.

Basil Brush and the Green Fairy

I was recalled back to the mothership at the weekend. It's nice to visit everyone once in a while so long as I know I can leave at any time.

This wasn't one of those occasions. I can't help think my mothers motivation for hosting my cousin's engagement party was simply a psychological attack on my single status.

I made every effort to speak with my family, especially the old ones. By my fifth glass of wine and third great aunt I was pointedly told that I was “bitter beyond my years.” This resulted in me spending the rest of the evening snarling at the children and flirting with every non related man in attendance. My mother looked like a lemon had been inserted in her by the time I declared “the foxes f*cking on the front lawn are more entertaining than you people!”

I strolled into work with a skip in my step Monday morning. After all I'm not Jeremy Hunt and I have no reason not to look forward to what the day had in store for me.

“Bad show Dave.” My bosses muttered as he returned to the office after Hunt's statement. I can see why the PM didn't come to the House. Everyone was going to be demanding an opinionated comment on the whole affair and Jezza is the only man who can't give one.

I was unaffected by his performance really. Some have commented that he did well, others have said that he killed any chance of being a contender for the leadership. If the latter is the case then the only winner today was George 'The Submarine' Osborne.

I picked up a discarded House of Commons research paper in a committee corridor. On the eighth page of Economic Indicators someone had scrawled the words WE ARE ALL F*CKED. Some people are so negative.

On a totally non related subject – do any of my dear readers know if Michael Gove plans to share his order from Total Absinthe with colleagues? I should hope so since it was delivered to the House of Commons...

I do so want to live in a world where our front benchers come to PMQs giggling with the green fairy.

Good night x

I like my men pretty and silent!

On Wednesday I struck a tourist with my handbag. It's not something I'm proud of to be honest as the tourist in question could be technically described as a child. Okay... it was a child of about ten but if I say "please get out of the way, I'm in a hurry" and the brat just laughs and proceeds to kick at my shoes then I am going to get angry.

The reason for my haste was over on the Green giving an interview about phone hacking. There's nothing quite like sitting in a very boring meeting in PCH only then to get a text message saying Hugh Grant is on the Green looking f*ckable! I made my excuses and slipped out of the meeting with my knickers in a twist (may as well call a spade a horny spade) but the distance and traffic worked against me despite being a vision in red.

Dear Hugh...I love you. I think we would work well together as I'm half your age and very rarely sober. Call me!

National Lampoon's Portcullis House

This post was written on the back of a scrap piece of paper whilst people watching in Portcullis House, or PCH to my Westminster brethren, and drinking coffee from the Debate. Rock and roll.

Monday should have been an easy day. The boss was out of the office all day and Rachel was in so I wasn't planning on talking to anyone on the phone unless I really had to. I didn't count on the boss's association having a collective breakdown, the boss screaming at me down the phone because he was lost, or a foot high stack of paperwork falling from the cabinet and losing it's order. Sure, it landed on Rachel and she 'didn't feel safe in the office' anymore but it's muggins here who had to sort it all out!

So I decided to spend some time out of the office. Rachel was left with orders to answer the phone and take messages, only texting me if there was an emergency i.e. it looked like the boss was going to get arrested, have the whip removed or he was mentioned in a post by Guido Fawkes.

Portcullis House is far too shiny and nice for me. You're don't often see the Old Boys walking and socialising around here as it lacks dark corners and shady alcoves. It just isn't right!

If you want to conduct your meetings under a tree with running water in the background might I recommend p*ssing off to St James' Park.

At some point I will get around to describing the different types of people who work in Westminster but that's a post for another day...

Toodles.

Ed's Sick In The Head?

The helicopters only stopped hovering over Westminster at 5pm on Thursday. When my fluey shivers turned to the sweats and the office window had to be opened, it was like a scene from The Swarm. Michael Caine would not have put up with that crap.

I have a terrible feeling that I may have become confused whilst writing a few emails today and signed them off 'with hugs'. Overdosing on cough sweets and lemsip is not condusive to a well run political office.

I know what you're thinking and that's filthy!

Speaking of sounding ridiculously congested - however strange and messed up I may have been feeling for the last few days I am doing a heck of a lot better than Ed Miliband. Just when we thought Labour couldn't find a weirder leader... See here

Once again I am sorry for being quiet. If I'm not at work and just huddled in a snotty ball at home then there's not much to write about or be able to write. I know who gave me this cold flu HELL and I will get my revenge on him. Mark my words! I really must learn better restraint when presented with a cute young man. Especially if he starts with "...sorry if I sneeze on you". School boy error Felicity!

Toodles xx

Pass Me A Tissue!

Dear readers, you will be sad to learn that I have a cold. Quite possibly the flu!

This resulted in me staying in bed yesterday, attempting to rub as much Vicks into my skin as possible whilst having a hot towel wrapped around my head. I was a picture of grace and serenity...

To help me feel better my flat mate and his horse faced girlfriend decided to come back to our flat at lunch time and recreate a donkey riding scene from the Bible.

The short and curly of it is that I will not be going to any events or receptions this evening unless I miraculously feel better by 5pm.

So in light of this I put forward a challenge to my fellow parliamentary staffers:

Print off my delightful profile picture on the right hand of the page and take it with you to the staffers reception this evening.

The aim of the game will be to hold the picture up in a photo with any Ministers or Whips. Whoever grabs a photo of the most senior Gov rep there gets a Felicity Parkes mug.

I am Felicity Parkes

Yes it’s what you’ve all been waiting for. Screw the Daily Politics mug, anyone and their handler can get one of those!



Roll up, Roll up, the Circus is in Town

As Mark Pritchard spoke in the chamber about circus animals my boss stood in front of the TV set with his hands on his hips and declared what we all knew. “He’s f*cked.” Seems Mark has put quite a few noses out of joint this week and not just with the circus animals malarky.

Dear readers, I wouldn’t recommend getting drunk and wandering the halls of the Norman Shaw buildings as I did last night. Getting in to the build is relatively easy however once you’re in there the corridors all meld into one and the room numbers don’t make any sense and suddenly you find youself in a broom cupboard rather that a lift! I quickly became bored of the dark maze like nightmare after 20 minutes and sat down outside Ed Balls' office. I contemplated crawling on my hands and knees to Ed Miliband’s office but couldn’t be bothered to push open the heavy doors with ‘Leader of the Opposition’ written on them. Probably for the best really, I have a terrible habit of stealing pens. Vodka is a terrible thing...

Sadly I lost an earring in the corridor...or was it the stairwell? Either way, if anyone finds it and I am looking at you Ed, do let me know.

Toodles x

Rain Drops Keep Falling On My Head

There was a point today when I considered using one of the kids on a school tour as a sacrificial lamb in order to appease the angry rain gods. Tomorrow I'll come into work wearing a plastic poncho, armed with a golf umbrella and there won't be a single drop! Of course as I complain about the weather, and what it's doing to my hair, I am greeted with a smirking comment about Wimbledon and how it MUST rain during Wimbledon. My response to that, dear readers, is Andy Henman or whatever his name can shove it where the sun don't shine, quite literally.

Rachel has had her nose pierced in what I can only deduce as some sort of attempt at rebelling against her family. I suggested if she really wanted to upset her family she should buy a pair of dungarees and doc martins. I've never met her family but from what she tells me, and the grimace that accompanies the mention, I think it would do the trick.

Talk on the Estate has been about the guest limit brought in at the Sports and Social bar. It won't last sadly. I'm actually all for a limit on the number of whinging student friends a staffer can bring into Parliament in the sad attempt to impress. The Sports is nothing to be proud of! The few occasions when I have had a guest I've always started with the line "sorry about the bar, it's a sh*thole." Just how crappy was your student bar that you think The Sports is The place for a night out?

I do miss Bellamy's. Let's hope the plan to turn Moncrieff's into a wine bar called Annie's actually happens.

They may have banned sexymp.co.uk but we'll always have this

Jedward Might Be A Viable Option At This Point

Like most people with a twitter account, an interest in politics and a dark sense of humour, the highlight of my day was the #AskEdM event that took place on twitter at 5pm. It lasted less than an hour but I bet it dragged for Ed Miliband. It was so funny that at one point I snorted and had to wipe my computer screen. 

The division bell sounded at 6pm and because I had refused to budge from my desk for fear of missing something good, I very nearly wet myself when the ding aling ding started.

I asked about half a dozen questions and only one could be considered a real question. People seemed to like this tweet. It even got a mention on the Spectator's Coffee House!

I had to give a tour today. The poor b*stards didn't know what to do with themsleves as I marched them around the Estate. "Yes, yes. That's the chamber, that's the lobby. For god's sake don't touch anything! Did you know you can be arrested for the looking the Speaker in the eye? MIND THE JAG!"

Toodles x

Meeting Boyfriends and Hearing Plots

Friday night saw me meeting with Rachel's boyfriend, Richard for the first time. She brought him into London for drinks after work. I don't like him and I am quite sure the feeling is mutual. Of course I remained polite for most of the evening despite his attitude. It's no wonder Rachel was so quiet and boring when she first started interning with us. Richard is of the belief that his girlfriend should be quiet until he speaks to her and that any female should always defer to a male. As you can imagine, dear readers, I'm not the deferring type.

“History teaches us that man is superior to women. All the great empires were lead by men, all our finest minds have been men.”

“I can't be bothered to debate this with you, Dick. I will simply point out that our greatest PM was a woman. Ergo you're talking sh*t.”

He told Rachel he wanted to leave shortly after that.

On the same Friday I also blogged for Total Politics so do toodle over and have a read.

Monday disappeared into nothingness. Every Tory backbencher I spoke to was spitting about Nick Clegg's 'victory' on the NHS. Cameron may be wanting to secure the Coalition and help Nick keep his leadership but he really ought to think about his own. It never takes long for talk to turn into plotting...

A few people I know went to the Boris drinks on Monday night. This poor bag carrier didn't have £30 to spare but I would have like to have gone. It's always nice to be in the presence of Bojo's mojo. From what I've been told today by rough looking staffers, it was a good evening and as predicted nothing went to plan. Has Boris ever been on time for an event?

And apparently there was talk of this blog and it's author last night. It's an open secret according to some...

Sports is Sporting, What What?

I am tempted to apologise for the late posting but I won't. I was somewhat distracted last night and I can say with a great deal of exuberance that it was bloody well worth it. Said distraction would also be the reason behind my lateness to the office this morning and the huge grin I'm sporting. I can confirm dear readers that I am indeed currently without regret or frustration. Don't worry, I won't bore you with anymore details about my sex life but let’s just say that I am rather glad I went to the Sports and Social last night.
  
No emails from the boss this morning. I was concerned until I found a post-it on my desk.

'FIX MY SODDING OUTLOOK. Please?'

I can only imagine how long he was here last night shouting at his laptop, punching random buttons before finally slamming it shut and then violating the stationary on my desk. It's taken me all of five minutes to solve the problem. We get BBC News emails sent automatically to us. It's bloody annoying as hundreds come through every day and take up space. Turns out the boss never knew about these and had not noticed the ten thousand BBC emails in his unread file.
I've never read these emails and if there is a way to stop them then I am all ears. Maybe we can get Sky News to send through information instead...

And before he mentions it, yes we do get Paul Waugh's very fine emails as well. x

Vote Mogg, Vote Often

Eighty six. That’s how many letters we sent out with a spelling mistake. They were all the same in response to a generic lobby letter we had been receiving and every one of them had the word ‘piss’ in the text. I haven’t told the boss yet and I don’t think I will. It was Rachel’s letter and I just can’t risk him getting rid of her.
The amount of pointless rubbish that is generated by an MP’s office would surprise any normal person and every bit of it needs to be scanned or photocopied and then stuffed into a envelope. I swear on my Yes, Minister boxset that it will not be me who has to do it!

The nominations for the House Magazine awards went out today. You can see them here www.thehouseawards.com. I’m only going to write this once dear readers: vote for The Moggster.

Well what were you expecting? I am a Capitalist after all...

Toodles! x

Money Money Money!

Because sometimes you just have to send an inappropriate birthday card and gift to someone in the Government. I am absolutely confident I'll get a response...

Maybe.

Brian Binley and the Philosopher's Stone of Raw Sex Appeal

I can confirm that SexyMP.co.uk has lost its sparkle. This isn't down to the adverts or the men popping up on the women section, no. The boss has become obsessed by it. He's not happy with his ranking and has taken to emailing me and the others with the instruction to 'play it for five minutes and vote against those who are higher than me!!' We received this message every few hours all Thursday and Friday last week. Like all things in life, the website was more fun when we shouldn't have been playing it in the office. A bit like watching pornography when in a serious relationship...

It has been a topic of discussion in a lot of MP's offices, SexyMP that is, not porn. I read Brian Binley's remarks in a local newspaper. I do think from now on his staffers should answer all calls with "Good morning, you're through to the office of Brian 'check out his raw musky powers of seduction' Binley. How may he sex you up?" It would go down a treat with the older ladies in the constituency, they would love it.

Bad Granny! No Cash in the Attic for you!

Hopefully not to the extent that my dear old granny did. She once knocked down three shoppers on a busy high street with her mobility scooter all because she wanted to pinch a man's arse. It's all right when you're elderly you can get away with anything! I have to pretend to be reaching round to open a door, swatting a fly or swinging my handbag when I want touch a man's bum. Actually that's not 100% true, I did once pinch Liam Fox's rear during a photo call at an event but then if you can't do it to Dr Foxy, who can you do it to?

Good night.

Let's Get Fracking!

You would have thought that I would try to draw out my holiday for as long as possible but the truth is I was bored and desperate to get back to work within twenty four hours of activating my out of office message.

What do I have to show for my time off? A strained silence with my friend and travel mate, Charlotte, a burnt bum where I fell asleep in the sun and a series of increasingly pathetic emails from the boss asking me where his car keys are. The closest I came to getting my rocks off was when Charlotte drunkenly crawled into my bed thinking I was her ex boyfriend. I believe I slurred “You can sleep here but it’s too hot for cuddles.”

I popped into work Wednesday afternoon. There was no way I was actually going to do any work but I was curious as to what state the office was in. Thankfully the boss wasn’t in and from what I could see of his desk, he hadn’t destroyed another laptop either. All in all the office was fine and dandy. I just can’t decide whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.

There were very few staffers about on the Estate and all of them looked dreadful. Every female had dark smudges under the eyes where the makeup had come off but by god she couldn’t be bothered to put any on. 

Stubble is always the sure sign of a recess and every male staffer I walked past looked like an extra in Lost. The place was dead, so dead in fact that I popped myself down in the office and enjoyed a large glass of Pimms and played on sexymp.co.uk for a little while.

So that’s it dear readers, it’s all back to business now and should anyone want to get in touch, well...you know what to do!

Toodles x

Mugs, Jugs and Slugs

While I am off on holls hopefully enjoying some whirlwind romance or at the very least getting my jollies, I hope all of Westminster enjoys the visit from Barack Obama.

I imagine that Obama will be half way through his speech and all of a sudden Gordon Brown recreates the scene from The Graduate. I will be very annoyed if I miss that.

Dear readers do you ever wish to hint to your work colleagues that you may be an anonymous blogger, wind up The Daily Mail AND line my pockets at the same time? Well you're in bally luck!

A girl's gotta pay for her shoes somehow...

I am Felicity Parkes by FelicityParkes

And now all that remains to be asked is:

Will the bars on the Estate notice a drop in their profits while I'm away? Will I come back to find the boss accidentally hanged himself as he mucked around with the office blinds? Will George ever send me a thank you email? Should I do as heavily suggested to me and remove the website I set up documenting Jacob Rees-Moggs double breasted suits? Will the Speaker be annoyed when he finds out what I left in the green petition bag? And finally... how much will a glass of wine cost on the flight?

Toodles!

Comedy Not Controversy

Imagine my surprise Sunday morning when I opened up a link to a Daily Mail article about me! I will admit to giving a sigh of frustration as this blog was compared to another which apparently revealed a real life affair between an intern and an MP. I've not read the blog myself but I was aware of it. The article then quotes a few posts from here and my blogger profile. All in all a sense of humour fail.

The reason for this blog has always been to entertain and make with the funny. I am not here to act as an undercover journalist and I would have hoped that the chaps at The Daily Mail and MPs would have spotted that. If there are individuals out there who don't get it, I would suggest they read my twitter profile.

Staffer for a Member of Parliament. Tory flirt with lushy tendencies. Welcome to my world...

On another note I am finally getting a holiday. I shall be flying out on Tuesday and not returning until the following week. Nothing but sand, sea and men in tight shorts, woof! I will of course still be contactable and more than happy to receive emails or tweets from my dear readers.

And happy birthday to George Osborne today and The Moggster tomorrow.

I hope your Whitsun recess will be as pleasant as I hope the hell mine will be.

Toodles for now xx

Pimms, Constituents and Brown

The highlight of my day was at the very start. I walked into the office to find a LARGE bottle of Pimms sitting on my desk. Stuck to the bottle was a post-it with a smiley face. I do love my boss sometimes. I know my dear readers will be thinking that statement odd given how much I complain about the old sod but he certainly knows how to push my buttons. The good and bad buttons.

We often get calls from constituents who want help for the most basic things. Some like to write in and say they’re thinking of starting a business but haven’t decided what or where yet but they still want the bosses advise and help. Others contact us mistakenly thinking their member of parliament is also their solicitor. In those cases we try to be firm but kind but if I hear the line “Why should I waste my time trying to call the CAB when you can do it for me?” I get twitchy. I have been known to bark “We can’t help you if you’re not prepared to help yourself!”

We had a call midday Tuesday from a person who wanted the MP to call their friend who was currently on a bus and somewhat down in the dumps. The caller said his friend just needed someone to talk to. You may think this sounds like a joke or prank call but it wasn’t. The caller became angry when I pointed out they had dialled the wrong number for the Samaritans.

There has been more talk today about Gordon Brown wanting the top IMF job. According to the New Statesman Gordon has told friends "he's not taking No for an answer."

Jon Craig talked about Gordon and the IMF this evening on Sky News. He said that Gordon had been networking in Westminster on Tuesday (I didn't bloody see him) and the general feeling is that 'he's forcing himself on Europe...'

What is it with these Socialists?