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...