Thursday, 31 March 2011

Rachel, Sambuca and a Rickshaw

 I may have had a smidgen too much influence on Rachel the Intern. Apparently she turned twenty last week and has since become determined to leave her teens behind her with the same gritty determination one has when trying to dump a blind date before the food is ordered.

Anyway Rachel has become a Mini Me and I am actually quite flattered. Some people hope to impart wisdom, love and peace to those around them, I am happy for my legacy to be sarcasm, right-wing cynicism and a pursuit of mindless gratification. We've got to teach these kids something after thirteen years of Labour education! I have a friend who has been 'seeing' a chap who refuses to watch films with subtitles because of 'all the sentence things covering the screen and getting in the way.' Yes, his entire secondary education was under Labour and yes, she is a cradle snatcher.

To cut a long story short - at Rachel's request we went to a few of the pubs in Westminster and enjoyed a few shandys. This resulted in us being so legless that I had to pay for a cab back to Rachel's sister's flat and then on to my own. I will be telling her to cough up the money for that when I see her next. 
I received a rather angry phone call from Rachel's sister as I was falling through my front door. Rather than drinking a glass of water and passing out on the sofa, Rachel had decided to light a cigarette (which she had taken from me) and then opened her sister's bottle of sambuca. There was mention of sick and stomach pumping but I haven't had it confirmed by Rachel yet. She did however send me a text this afternoon. 'Soz for my sis calling you a ****'. I've had worse.

I have a vague memory of getting onto a rickshaw last night and declaring myself Boudica: Bitch Queen of London Town. What worries me is that I don't think there are any rickshaws in Westminster. Where the hell did we go? Unless that was when Rachel joked about trying to find where Zac Goldsmith lived and I promptly hailed a cab...


Tuesday, 29 March 2011

NotoAV, BoJo and Inspector Clouseau

Who else went to the No to AV event this morning in Victoria Gardens for parliamentary staffers and their MPs? I got as far as the gate and then turned around again. I am NotoAV and proud but there is no way I was going to wear a bright green t-shirt in public so I stayed off to one side and had a smoke.
I did spot one or two MPs returning to the Westminster Palace with their green shirts tucked under their arms. I don't know if these were gifts from the campaign team or 'souvenirs'.

Well done those who did their part for the compaign at 9am on a Monday morning. With my cigarette clasped between my lips, I saluted you. And quite possible the German tourists who just happened to be walking past me at the same time. It would have turned messy if they had taken offence, I can tell you!

Also well done to Labour today from ignoring their own links and connections to the UKuncut bunch and instead trying to make the story about Boris Johnson. Of course some more than other's were having trouble with BoJo's words of wisdom.

Did you know, dear readers that there are those who are actively trying to corner and identify me? If it wasn't so funny I would probably find the whole situation a little bit sexy!

The people in question are mostly colleagues, staffers who just hate being out of the loop. I am quite sure some of them are reading this right now. My friends: don't you have better things to do than try to work out if you have a spy in your midst? There's talk of getting together and working through the clues. I'm going to be there, I've offered to take notes. Inspector Clouseau eat your heart out!

Remember boys and girls: I get my information and inspiration from many things. If you have a titbit that you think I might be interested in then tell me. You can rely on me to keep all identities safe, my lips will be sealed. And yes, before anyone says anything, that does make a change from the norm.

Goodnight x

Saturday, 26 March 2011

Felicity in the Park - TUC Rally

Voted in by the Unions, for the Unions
In a time of conflict, unrest and bad sporting results, Felicity Parkes attempts to enjoy a day in the park. Surrounded by protesters, socialists and the general unwashed, will she make it to end without giving herself away or will she take one too many nips of the old hip flask?

I arrived at Hyde Park just after 1pm and was  immediately overwhelmed with a sneer. My union disliking boss would have keeled over from the sheer volume of trade union banners. Lots of green, red and purple but not much blue. Funny that.

I spotted son of Lord Hunt of Chesterton, Tristram Hunt MP and Natascha Engel MP near the archway

David Anderson MP was sat near the stage and shouting down his phone and I spotted Hilary Benn MP trying to get in backstage.

The only hacks I recognised were Gary Gibbon and Sir Michael White. Gibbon wandered around bored for a few hours, never looking particularly inspired. I have a sneaking suspicion that White recognised me from when our paths have crossed outside Moncriefs from time to time. I would guess that his red beret was as close as he could get to showing solidarity with his comrades!

The rally seemed to be made up of 'right-on' activists, indoctrinated students and middle-class families who hadn't had a day out since the Stop the War march. There was one couple drinking champagne! This I know as fact because they nearly hit me with when they popped the cork.

Despite all the Tory and bank bashing, it was nice to see lots of people at the rally riding Boris bikes. In their own little way Barclays was represented.

A number of people including David Prentis and Ed Miliband mentioned that half a million people were at the rally. I'm sure I've seen more people at a Take That concert back when they were at their peak.
Ed Miliband's speech was dreadful and as I tweeted today as well, there were quite a few who were not happy to have him there. I nearly lost the hearing in one ear when an old lady screamed "You would've done the same!" This was said by a few others as well and it just so happens I was able to recorded some of it.

I won't go into the drivel that came out of this man's mouth because others have done a far better job than I could have. Here's

The big screens almost couldn't take it!
For all the gumpf about 'women's equality' and the 'appreciation of the Sisterhood' we still had three near naked dancers on the stage for six minutes. They danced and jiggled while Medhi Hasan stood just off side grimacing. He clenched his jaw and barred his teeth as he realised that for all the sh*t said about respecting women, he was going to have to take to the stage like a beauty pageant host.
The one part that has stuck in my mind from anything Medhi Hasan said all day was this line: "The only difference between Thatcher and Cameron is the gender." IF ONLY I nearly shouted. 

Regardless of all the anti-capitalist nonsense that was spouted today, when it came down to it people were still willing to hand their money over to the few smart businesses in the park. I salute those burger vans, coffee sellers and knock-off t-shirt traders who sold crap to the protesters. And I do mean crap. The cheese burger I bought would have been thrown at Tony Robinson had I not been so bloody hungry. 

All in all there was nothing there for anyone outside of a union or not employed by the public sector. It all felt very 'me me me' despite their attempts to make it 'us us us'. There were your usual lines about the police keeping their "sleazy hands of our kids" and the ill thought out encouragements to occupy building and strike. As it has been rightly pointed out today, the Countryside Alliance had greater numbers at their march. Does that make them more or less mainstream Mr Miliband?
I'll leave you with these two photos that I took at the rally. If I every attend another of these I am going to try sniffing glue before hand. It might help put me in the mindset of trade unionist.


Friday, 25 March 2011

Blinky Balls and Bust

Tesco has started spamming the boss with emails about the iPad 2. Clever bastards but they're forgetting one little thing: most MPs can't even work their Blackberrys and would probably end up using an iPad as a clipboard.

Speaking of emails, has anyone else been getting emails from Tony Blair? The boss has had a few now and it looks like all MPs have been cc'ed in. It's the whole 'WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE AND IT'S DOWN TO THE GAYS' bullsh*t. I don't think it's our Tony Blair but it is certainly someone else with a screw loose.

Rachel the intern asked today why MPs stand up after someone speaks in the chamber. She thought it was to show support for what had been said. I resisted the urge to pat her head and just settled for "shush, less talky talky and more posty posty." She's swearing a lot more these days and has starting asking me what it's like to smoke. The more this place corrupts her the more I'm warming to her. 

I would have left it there but then I had the displeasure of seeing Ed Balls' Budget Response on the television before BBC Question Time. Whose bloody idea was it to film it in a Sure Start centre? Osborne does his in a plush and stately room. Balls does his in what looks like a classroom and ends up looking like a predatory, BUG eyed warning to children.


Thursday, 24 March 2011

"Bunch of sycophantic arse-kissers"

I didn't see them but the boss tells me that there were MPs queuing up to get in the chamber before 10am. "Bunch of sycophantic arse-kissers" as he like to call them. 
He ambled his way over to the chamber at 11:20am. I received a text shortly after: No seat. Standing like a tit. I was tempted to text back and ask what kind of freaky tits had he been looking a recently but couldn't be bothered.

Any plans that I might have had for this evening went via the u-bend at around 7pm. The TUC were having a NHS or some such reception and the boss wanted me in there. Man alive was I bored! When it became clear that despite my shy smile and nervous air, I was in fact a baby eating Tory it went somewhat down hill.
I am never very good at anything undercover. I have a tendency to say things like "Yes but you're a socialist and therefore have no concept of ownership or responsibility." They don't like that.

Everyone remembers that scene from Fawlty Towers when he attacks the car with the tree, yes? If not then you're either far too young and you should be revising for an exam or you've been living under a Mongolia.
Anyway, those that know what I mean when I say that I went 'totally Basil Fawlty' on a photocopier this afternoon. The buggering thing chose to break just after 6:30pm when I needed it most. If any dear readers witnessed a woman beating a machine with what looked like a stack of fuel duty lobby letters, than that was me.

I'm writing this on the train home, squeezed into my seat by a giant man in headphones. He is wearing a Baywatch t-shirt. I feel very uncomfortable.
I am considering breaking my own rule of 'only heels at work'. When you're walking down the principle floor corridor at 10pm shoeless then it's time to admit there's a problem. Thankfully there were very few people about to see me.

I looked a state. A small state which is no bad thing but still a state.


Wednesday, 23 March 2011

Gymnastics, Cuts and Blinky

“Never violate the bosses diary or I will break your fingers!”

Now some will say this is not the way to speak to a work colleague but I would argue that the intern is not a colleague but rather a part time pet in the office. A pet which must find its own food and should it anger a bigger animal i.e. a policeman or MP, fend for its self. Sadly, should the pet make a constant mess and endless noise, it can't be put down. I’ve had that confirmed by IPSA by the way: we’re not allowed to put down interns.

As I tweeted earlier, I realised half way through the day that I had mismatched stockings on. Only with a trained eye or a hand on each calf would someone be able to tell the difference but that’s not the point. I knew there was a difference and they had to be changed. This resulted in me attempting to change in the office. When it became clear that my bare leg was a little too much for the chaps I made my way to the ladies. 
Sadly I attempted this journey with one shoe undone and only one clasp holding an under garment in place. Suddenly losing your footing and shoe then subsequently hitting the deck is not a manoeuvre one can pull off at the best of times. Doing it while trying to keep yourself covered in front of a large group of mostly elderly visitors is a humiliation I wouldn’t wish on even (Sally Bercow) the most irritating Labour activist! This whole incident might explain the strange looks I was getting from David Guake at one point today. Were you there David? Answers on a post card.

I had considered watching Treasury Qs from the gallery this afternoon just so I could get out of the office. Normally when the feeling of imprisonment starts to set in, I go to the bar but it’s still a week till pay day and I don’t have the coinage. Instead I stayed at my desk and shouted obscenities with the boss whenever Balls spoke.

We had a constituent write to tell us that the Coalition Government was 'slashing this country's throat' over cuts. How we marveled at the pun! Finally, after a great deal of sniggering, we included the following in our response:

Rather than slitting this country’s throat, I believe the Government is performing life-saving emergency surgery to save Great Britain from flatlining on the economic operating table. With surgeon-like precision the Chancellor will be seeking to ensure that this operation is as painless as possible.

I’m not sure what I’m looking forward to more on Wednesday: the Budget or the protests outside. I’m to stay and ‘assist’ the boss until late tomorrow evening so if there are any protesters looking to throw bottles and stones at me again like last time then they should be warned. I probably won’t be sober.

Tuesday, 22 March 2011

Whips, Netball and The Iron Lady

Understandably there were a lot of hacks around today. Everyone seemed to be flitting around with a nervous air. I guess sending our brave boys and girls into combat will do that to a Parliament.
Of course the world doesn’t stop when fighting starts. Constituents keep calling and lobbyists keep sending boring and generic emails. 

I am getting increasingly p*ssed off with the moths in every office and hallway. Does anyone else have an issue with flying bugs trying to get in your mouth?

"I never hugged him, I bombed him."
My boss has decided he wants to join the Parliamentary ‘Back to Netball’ Group. “If it’s good enough for Col. Bob then it’s good enough for me!” Why doesn’t it surprise me that that Bob Stewart has signed up as well.

I am worried about the boss. I came back from lunch and found him talking to a framed portrait of Baroness Thatcher about Libya. I know he likes to air his thoughts when he’s troubled but I think he’s spending too much time chatting to the Iron Lady. Christ I hope he doesn’t start hearing the portrait talk back. He did leave the office for the chamber muttering something about “the stench of appeasement.” Oh dear. I was going to take him up on his offer of a few in the Strangers this evening but I'm not too sure now he's gone all fruitloop.
Toodles. xx

Friday, 18 March 2011

Bitch Fight with the Police

The boss was somewhat fragile today. As I understand it he managed to get himself slipped for Wednesday evening and then disappeared into the evening air with his wife. I don’t know where they went but his phone was turned off and this morning he’s sporting a love bite and a hangover. The old dog!

Rachel the intern was stopped by security today. Normally she is able to get quite close to the office as long as she sticks to the ‘public area’. This time though she was stopped by a petite female officer who was having none of it. This meant I had to get up and get her which put me in a bad mood. Subsequently the argument I then had with the officer may have been caught in the background of a news report. Can’t tell for sure though. This is why I prefer male officers, the older ones especially as they don’t care anymore. They just want a quiet life and a smile from ‘a pretty lass’ which I’m always more than happy to help with.

I’m being urged to go to the Sports tonight but it's karaoke night and it never end well. It’s a tiny pokey little bar anyway but it’s rammed with bodies on a Thursday night and you can’t hear yourself think over the cat wails that is the singing. I think I shall pass...or will I?

Funniest thing I’ve seen today was a No2AV parody tweeted out by Mr Cole. It’s been added to my little wall of ‘images that make me laugh and/or inspire me’.
It joins Maggie on the doorstop, Brown being told about Bigotgate, Boulton vs. Campbell and the past mentioned George and his hoe plus a wealth of others!


Thursday, 17 March 2011

Here Be Whales!

We are fast approaching Friday. Do you know what this means dear readers? It mean that when Friday is here there will be nothing but battered fish to eat! Every Friday it's the same. Why have four places on the Estate selling food and then make the main meal battered fish in every single one of them! 
Bring in a McDonalds or KFC I say. Open up the floor to some competition and see if the poor staffers still choose between fish or a Tesco sandwich every effing Friday.

Mental note to self: do NOT forget where you are and re-attached your stocking tops when standing at the back of the Speaker's chair. I had to drop documents off a few times whilst the boss sat on the bench and hollered abuse to the benches opposite. I handed the documents over and without thinking bent over slightly to sort myself out. I shan't name names but there were a few grins from male MPs as I straightened and walked away. I had completely forgotten about the slit in the back of my dress and can only imagine how much was on display as I played with the clips.

Despite this 'flashing' I still maintain that my outfits are more fitting to work life on the Parliamentary Estate than most. Here are two things I would highlight to the younger bods:

1) Only a few men can pull off a bow tie. I know you're aiming for Doctor Who or James Bond but you're looking more like Pee Wee Herman and he's now only known for pulling himself off.

2) This isn't college, bare legs and flip flops are not standard office wear. Although I did once see a girl in the Sports with cellulite so bad, it was eating through her tights. I very nearly lost a mouthful of red plonk when my drinking partner starting quoting Moby Dick. I told him he was going to hell, the dry kind.

Wednesday, 16 March 2011

BREAKING NEW: vodka eyeballing is bad for you

We Tories don't really like being told what to do. I think this stems from the whole 'I know what's best for me and if I get it wrong then so be it' mentality.
We're individuals rather than parts of a group or body. We are the ones who tend to do the things we're told not to do just to prove a point. Well...I am anyway.

(I could have used the image of George Osborne smoking but that brings the whole 'hookers and coke' subject up again!)

"Oh that's a filthy habit. Really you should put that cigarette out."

This is what I had to put up with when I tried to enjoy my lunch break with a few moments of self pollution. I never respond well to this.

"Next you'll be telling me to stop with the vodka eyeballing or cow tipping!"

If I wanted to be lectured to be irritating busy bodies then I would have voted for Labour last year. Though saying that I am not at all impressed with the ban on tobacco advertising. 
Make you bally minds up. If it's such a bad thing then ban it all together and stop me from choosing to pollute my lungs or go away. I swear sometimes the Government sounds and acts like my mother after a few glasses of wine and a disappointing evening out with my father.

Anyway as I wrote at the start: we don't like being told what to do. We like to give orders rather than follow them. Maybe this is why I didn't last very long in the Brownies. My father was happy to have me out of the house and away from his work but mummy dearest didn't like it. She thought that being in the Brownies would somehow make me more inclined to spend more time with women when I got older. Yes you did read that right, she was worried that the little brown uniform with it's little yellow scarf would turn me gay. Between you and me dear readers I'm told that she thinks this is the reason I have still not settled down. This is why I drink.

I was eventually kicked out of the Brownies for 'constantly taking the Lord's name in vain and setting fire to the owl mascot.' I regret nothing! My darling sister still likes to bring this up as an example of how I do not play well with others. I've heard she plays a little too well with her brother-in-law, the Nigella wannabe bitch.

Credit where it's due: she and her new husband do have a cracking wine cellar.

Bye for now. x

Tuesday, 15 March 2011

The Eds, Bob and Wee Dougie

I've been informed that hissing "Ed Balls for Labour Leader" behind Ed Miliband's back on the Portcullis House escalators is bad form. I thought I was being down right polite.

I watched the PM's statement on Libya and Japan this afternoon. I must say I'm getting a little worried about Dave. Last week he was saying that the EU was good for the country, then today that Baroness Ashton was doing a good job. Where is this going? "The EU is grand, Ashton is superb, Balls is an economic marvel and Bob Crow is a very tender lover."

I subtly hinted to Rachel about the sniffing thing. It involved me offering her a tissue after every third sniff. If that doesn't work then I'm just going to scream "For the love of all things holy please stop with the constant crusty sniff sniff, you absolute DRIP of a girl!"

Lunch was a disappointment. Honey glazed chicken breast on a pita bread with a salad garnish turned out to be pita bread, a nugget of meat and a sh*t load of green crap. £4 is a lot on my level of pay. A lot.

Can someone tell wee Douglas Alexander to use his office. Everytime I walk though Portcullis House he's there with his staff and having what looks like a secret hobbit meeting. Get a f*cking room!


Friday, 11 March 2011

Parental Disappointment for the Main Course

As I mentioned in my post yesterday I spent the evening with my family to celebrate my mother's birthday. The evening consisted mainly of an campaign of terror by mummy dearest about my marital status, or lack there off. Fun for all the family, my parent's friends, my parent's neighbours and my parent's work colleagues. None of whom seemed to 'get' me or my lifestyle. Cue my long suffering sigh.

I am sure many dear readers have been in a similar situation with friends, loved ones or just normal people who don't think about politics 80% to 90% of the time. You tell them you don't have the time or energy to concentrate on a full time relationship let alone marriage. This to them seems alien. "Not everything is about your work, Felicity." No but everything is almost certainly about politics; local, national, party, office and sexual.
You use the old "I want to make a difference and help people" line which they don't buy if they know you. When you eventually declare that it boils down to a love for the game, the fight and the all encompassing glory that comes with winning then the person opposite you excuses themselves and leaves.

I've gotten to the stage where I now tell people or members of my family that I have a fetish for powerful men in suits, the aroma of assumed power and the sound of the division bell. This still ends with them backing away and muttering darkly but at least it saves me going through the motions. You can knock back a lot more liquid when you don't have to bother trying to make with the small talk. 

For those of you wondering: yes, I am a fabulous dinner party guest!


Thursday, 10 March 2011

Mike Hancock, Bone and my Mother

Something that has tickled me this week was the little cock-up in Downing Street. An email found its way into my inbox. It may or may not have been forwarded to me by someone on the email list, I won't say names.
The email was an invite to No.10 for a No to AV meeting with the PM but there amongst all the Tory names was Mike Handcock, Lib Dem MP and walking beard!

Why on earth would he be invited to such a meeting when I'm pretty sure he's in the Yes camp. Then it became clear that it had obviously been intended for Matthew Hancock, Tory MP and V neck jumper addict.
I wonder if Mike was suprised when the email appeared in his inbox, possibly nestled between emails advertising Viagra and Russian wife catalogues.

The prize for best asked PMQ this week goes to Peter Bone. You can see it here.

It's my mother's birthday today so this evening will be spent visiting the relatives and hearing again and again how super my sister's marriage is going. Pass the bottle please!

Wednesday, 9 March 2011

"You'll never be Rachel Johnson, Mr Speaker!"

As I'm writing this on International Women's Day, allow me to make reference to when the sisterhood once burnt their bras.

Burnt that bra Kelly Brooke!
It didn't take long for us to get a new face in the office. Her name is Rachel and she wants to be a journalist and writer apparently. My work colleague found this very humorous.

"Shame your surname isn't Johnson otherwise you could claim her work as your own. Get it?"

This was greeted with the same weak flicker of intelligence one would find in the faces of MacDonalds staff. I don't like her very much. All she seems to do is sniff and pick her nails. I wouldn't mind if there was some sort of personality or character underneath that mousy brown hair or M&S cardi but there's nothing! I asked the boss if Rachel was by any chance grown in a field by one of the farmers in his constituency. He didn't find it funny. I think he's quite taken by her. I guess if sniffy, dull and monosyllabic nineteen year olds are your thing then knock yourself out. On the plus side she does know how to file and how to turn on a lap top which is better than our last constituency procured 'office helper'.

Having heard my fair share of grumbles about Speaker Bercow and what he calls 'being on Backbencher's side' I am not shocked at Claire Perry's outburst.
I wonder what the response would have been like if a male MP had said the exact same thing. Of course I would imagine someone like Jacob Rees-Mogg or similar would have perhaps said it in Latin. Speaking of The Moggster, I emailed him today. Why? Well...why not?

Dear Mr Rees-Mogg,

I won't presume to call you The Moggster but please know that it is a term many use with great affection.

I always enjoy your contribution to parliamentary debates and I very much hope that you be speaking in today’s debate as I believe we have very similar views on the EU.

While I am not a constituent I hope it would not be inappropriate if I were to ask if you will be speaking in the International Womens debate on Thursday 10th March? I very much hope this is the case and that you would consider going against the grain and referring to it as International Ladies Day. This does, in my opinion, sound like a much more enjoyable day as I am sure you will agree.

Yours sincerely,
Ms Felicity Parkes

I haven't have a response yet but I'm sure this is simply because I didn't contact him by carrier pigeon or by telegram.

Very sound update on a Thursday evening. I've just checked my email.-

Dear Ms Parkes,

Many thanks for your kind email.  Unfortunately, I did not get the chance to speak today but think your suggestion about Ladies Day is excellent.

With every good wish,

Yours sincerely,
Jacob Rees-Mogg

Tuesday, 8 March 2011

Spring Forum and the Fake Tan of Death!

I learned a few things this weekend and no, I'm not talking about Conservative Party polices or No to AV campaign tips.

I will NEVER ever let the boss pick the music for a journey again.I had to sit there for hours as he swerved the car in time to either brass band music, The Bee Gees or Lilly Allen. I drew the line at Lilly f*cking Allen and asked him to pull over in the next layby so I could have a cigarette. As I stood there watching the traffic, the wind ruining my hair, I considered making a break for it. Would the boss have noticed if I'd turned on my heel and run screaming across the road side field? Probably.

The hotel was actually a B&B. More than a few of the rooms had scuffed boot prints against the doors but it had better carpet than Westminster Palace so it’s swings and roundabouts really. 
I accompanied the boss on Friday and Saturday night. I must say there wasn’t much of a vibe. Normally everyone is happy to get together, gossip and speculate but this time it felt flat and forced. Cardiff is great but let's face it boy and girls, it's no Brighton. At last year's Spring Forum I found myself at a house party sharing a bottle of something that tasted like strawberry 20/20 with a chick with a mohican. How I got from the Conservative Friends of Azerbaijan reception to sitting in an empty bath chatting with a girl who had more piecing than I have fingers, I'll never know.

Something I did notice about Spring Forum this year were the Cfers. I just can't tell whether they're getting younger or I'm getting older. Either way, I'm all for political zeal but there's a fine line between determination and desperation.
Ladies: if we want conference to be like a cattle market we would hold it where they film The Only Way is Essex. I swear there were times when senior MPs or indeed the Prime Minister would mingle with the norms and you couldn't hear yourself think over the dreamy sighes, excited giggles or the sound of a push-up bra being adjusted.

Regular readers will point out that I tend to wear inappropriate shoes to work but I do team these with tasteful blouses and pencil skirts. Live the stereotype, you know?

I blame the mixing of G&T, wine and champagne for the horrendous state that befell me Saturday morning. It’s bad enough waking up in a hotel room and forgetting where you are for a few seconds but imagine waking up on a hotel room floor. Thank god for the half decent carpet.

As I tweeted over the weekend, I did on more than one occasion either hear my name being said or was party to a conversation about me. It seems that this little diary has certainly sent tongues wagging! Dear readers please remember, sometimes the fun is in the not knowing. Or in my case, the fun is in other people not knowing. I am in politics after all.

Roll on Manchester I say.

Friday, 4 March 2011

"We've gone on holiday by mistake!"

We're heading to Cardiff tomorrow (Friday) and I've been set on Go Felicity, go! since the break of dawn. It's been a long day and I'm writing this at my desk. It's still sticky from where I dropped my coffee. Thankfully it went over the keyboard and paperwork rather than my dress.
No drunk MPs today. Quite the opposite in fact with the boss declaring a dry spell until he reaches sunny Wales. I can only take him at his word of course. For all I know he was necking something from the drinks cabinet when no one was looking. It wouldn't be the first time...
I will endeavour to get some gossip or stories from conference but I worry it will just end up like last year. I was either drunk, hungover or drunk with a hangover. Brighton is a very hilly place to visit and I didn't take any flats. It was sheer effing torture.

I would be tempted to dump the boss and do my own thing but if we team up we both win. He has someone young and attractive (if I do say so myself) with him making sure he sticks to the plan and I have someone paying for my drinks for the whole weekend. At £10 for a G&T that sounds like a good plan.

Dear readers, I will love you and leave you now. Feel free to email, comment or tweet me if you're in Wales or if you have anything juicy. I may even post pics if I am sent them.

I'll be the blonde at the bar...

Thursday, 3 March 2011

A Day of Near Misses

Today was a day of near misses. I nearly got knocked down by a black cab outside Charing Cross station just before lunch and then I was nearly knocked down by Nicholas Soames outside a committee room. Bulldozer in human form that man.

Heels are not ideal when running about London and even less so on the wet cobblestones that make up the front of the Palace. I could wear trainers when I'm darting about but then how will the old boys know when to look about for a perve if they can't hear the tip tap of a lady's shoes? As my dear old granny used to say "underwear comes and goes but you must never be without heels and a pearl necklace, Felicity dear." Both this statement and the accompanying wink confused my eleven year old self but by heck the old bird was right!

I managed to spend a precious few hours in the office today. The only highlight was when someone tried to unlock the door (which wasn't locked) without knocking. The posties tend to knock but every now and then some rude so and so just walks in. I leapt for the door in a hope of catching the git only to be greeted by a confused and swaying MP.

"Who are you?"
"Felicity. Who are you?"
"Is this my office?"
"Almost 100% sure it isn't. Unless this is you." I pointed to the name on the door.
"S'not me. Cocking hell I must be on the wrong floor..." And with that he stumbled away. 

I didn't recognise him right away but I can confirm that he wasn't a member of either of the two major parties. Nice to know it's not just my boss who suffers from 'Long-Lunchitis.'


Wednesday, 2 March 2011

Wales, Zak Goldsmith and the Peculiar Practice of Tom Watson

Today was cold. So cold in fact that even the sound of a Welsh choir couldn’t warm my cockles. I walked through a busy Westminster Hall and heard singing but with the cram of bodies I couldn't see where it was originating from. I had a brief panic filled moment where I thought ‘I've finally lost my marbles, I’m too young!’ Turns out it was just the St David’s Day celebration. And my hangover.

I became caught up in the crowd for the Speaker’s Procession again today. I swear he does it on purpose! At least I was standing near Richard Drax who does look a heck of a lot better in person. Oh this reminds me, I must stop perving over the male MPs when they can see me. I do believe I said to a colleague “There’s Zak ‘phwoar look at his arse’ Goldsmith!” as I passed Zak in the lobby. I have feeling that he might be able to read lips, you know.
I’m sure there will be at least one dear reader pointing to the above and crying sexist. I don’t care and if you hadn’t figured that out after reading about the bum slapping in previous posts then there’s no hope for you.

01/03/11 17:55 GMT - Tom Watson stood up in the House and didn’t slag anyone off. Quite the opposite, he rose and thanked the Home Secretary for her work on Cowboy Clampers. The chamber was shocked and perplexed. Has someone been slipping something into his tea? It would explain the rosy glow and happy smile on his face. 

Tom if you’re reading this, and I hear you're a fan, I am of course joking. I know your drug is chocolate...

Toodles for now.

Tuesday, 1 March 2011

Never Underestimate a Man in His Pants

We’ve lost another intern! At this rate my office is going to get a reputation for being cursed.

I feel quite bad actually as the last time I saw him I called him Sicky Ricky and he didn’t look all that impressed. I’m not fussed if I hurt his feeling, more that it makes me look like I couldn’t remember his name which I can. It’s....well it was obviously such a boring name it didn’t stick in the old grey matter. I am assured that we will soon have someone else from the constituency and I can go through the whole spiel once more about how we run this office.
My main gripe has been a lack of common sense from the youngsters: letters posted with no attachments, not saving spread sheets and then there is of course the little matter of throwing old tea out of the office window. If the splashed MP is reading this then please accept my sincere apologies. The intern in question knew fear, I promise you.

Somehow the boss injured himself since I last saw him. He won’t tell me if his wife, a constituent or a really good bottle of scotch that was to blame. I will just have to sooth my nosiness by hiding the crutch he’s using. He’s doing a jolly good impression of Tiny Tim right now, pathetic little cough and everything.

It was good to have the House sitting today. Nothing quite like seeing Chris Bryant stumping the Speaker by quoting Erskine May. As my boss says “Never underestimate a man in his pants!” Profound.

Of course the best part was David Winnick saying the UK should stop selling arms to "murdering bastards who terrorize their own people”. David Miliband’s face looked just like his brother’s for a moment.

Am I keen to spend a weekend in Wales with the boss? No. Is it still going to happen regardless? Seems so. Will I be using free white wine to make the weekend pass quicker? Absolutely.

Word has it that the Chancellor is loving it up with backbenchers tonight over at No.11. I wonder if they have twiglets? Mmm savory maneuvers.