Jude Law, Sally Bercow and the joys of IPSA

Monday 31^st January

So the day didn't start out great. It does not bode well for the week ahead when you manage to slam your face into a revolving door before 9am on a Monday morning. The beauty of the glass doors at the front of Portcullis House means that most if not everyone can see it happen. If they didn't then they sure as hell heard me swearing.

The boss arrived in the office around lunch time and proceeded to violate my desk with a 100 ratty bits of papers. I can only assume they were from his constituency meetings. I think anyone else would have accepted that their pen was on its way out but no not him! He kept writing notes until the only way for me to know what it said was to rub a pencil over the indentations. I consoled myself with pretending to be Indiana Jones for those few minutes.

Like all other staffers who are in any way attracted to a nice arse in a pair of designer trousers, I moseyed on down to clap my eyes on Mr Jude Law in the Atlee suit in PCH. Apparently he was here for a charity event rather than researching for a part he's playing. Sorry for coming across so crude so early but he can play with my parts any time he likes! Woof!

People will advise against going for a drink on a Monday night but as it’s by far the most stressful day of the week then surely it’s the idea time? Oh how I miss Bellamy’s Bar.

Tuesday 1^st February

The boss had very sneakily slipped a twenty minute meeting in just before midday leaving me with the instruction to greet a school tour group. The horror! I don't mind saying hello to the constituents if it’s a small group of one or two but two dozen ten year olds? No, no, no!
When one young lad asked me if I had been there since Thatcher I was tempted to point at the child and shout out “terrorist”. Bloody cheek, I'm not even thirty yet.

There are many reasons to ring up Facilities and complain but saying “I’m getting splinters from the bottom of my desk and I fear the next one will spear my ball bag!” is quite original. My work colleague is nothing if not dramatic. Props to him however for getting a reference to his groin in just about every phonecall he has made today. They just can’t teach that in school.

I made the mistake of seeking peace and quiet in the Sports & Social before 2pm. I am not the sort to drink alone (not at work anyway) so our intern, Derek was dragged in with me. He's the quiet sort who will only drink orange juice but will then probably go home and drop kick his neighbour's cat over the fence. I have my eye on him.

Wednesday 2^nd February

The highlight of the week, well in terms of chamber activity anyway was upon us but the weekly knock about was overshadowed by other issues. PMQs are one of the few times when we can be sure that the boss will be in the chamber. You can't guarantee it 100% though. I know a researcher who lost a bet and had to spend 30 minutes in the office, in his underwear and believed that PMQs would be the best time to fulfil said bet. Ridiculous error when you consider he could have just done it on a Friday.

Anyway I digress. Wednesday was all about trees. Effing forests and who was going to own them. Hundreds of lobby emails and letters covered every desk in our dingy little office. I must have had a dozen phone calls from people wanting to talk about 'asset stripping' which is sadly nowhere near as saucy as it sounds by the way.

Left the office around 19:30 and was nearly knocked on my arse by a Ministerial Jag. Can't the driver read? There are signs around that say 'DEAD SLOW'. That's not code for 'aim for the skirt crossing the car park'. My favourite pair of heels was scuffed as I jumped out of the way. No chance of claiming that on IPSA is there?

Thursday 3^rd February

Claims were published today by IPSA. With their website crashing or freezing I was being told to call them. Pointless really as we should just wait for the hacks to have a look and come to us with the info.

IPSA BITCH! I typed this across the open word document a dozen or so times as I was left hanging on the phone to our darling IPSA friends. We are all IPSA Bitches now. I’ve stopped the boss calling them after the unfortunate incident involving him having a panic attack as they started asking him questions about stationary and town hall hire. Nothing throws suspicion over you like yelling “I’m too fragile for prison!” down the phone at an Independent Authority. I don’t know why he got so worked up, it’s all above aboard. Anyway, this is why I deal with it all now.

Derek has put in a complaint to the boss that he feels he’s being bullied. Just goes to show that the youth of today are thin skinned. You stick one little note to someone’s suit jacket that reads ‘Noakes’ next victim’ and suddenly we all have to discuss ‘workplace relationships.’ I know for a fact the boss couldn’t have given a rat’s behind about the whole matter but Derek’s daddy works in the Foreign Office...

Around 4pm the boss handed me an A4 printout of Sally Bercow in a sheet and asked me to file it away for the weekend. I don’t get paid enough for this crap.
 

 Felicity