Speaker and Hangovers Do Not Mix

This morning was bad and I blame the two glasses of wine I had enjoyed when I got home last night on top of the four drinks in the Lord's Bar after work. There is only so long you can hide in the photocopy room before someone comes in and tries to make small talk. I must have looked a sorry state when buying breakfast in my sunglasses.

I decided that muting the television was best whenever Mr Speaker spoke during PMQs, partly for my hangover and partly because his voice grates to a point where a twitch starts below my left eye.

At least the boys were no longer trying to be all statesman-like and civilised this week. Most of us enjoy the rowdiness, it is what we tune in for every bloody week! The rest of the time the chamber is nothing but coma-inducing politeness so I do think Bercow should get stuffed.

Derek decided that today was the day he was going to get FAR too big for his boots. Readers will have seen my mentions of Derek before. The jumped up little squirt of an intern said “get on your saddle and go on down to the cafeteria to get me a coffee.” Firstly, it doesn't even make sense. Did he just randomly bring up saddle in some sort of reference to my arse? And secondly, I may be IPSA's bitch and perhaps there is the odd occasion where I do things for the boss when I can be bothered but I DO NOT take orders from the intern. I think it is time for Derek to seek experience elsewhere.

Toodles