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!