Redistribute the Horror

People keep asking me if I dressed as Baroness Thatcher for the halloween party I attended at the weekend. Why would I want to do that? Halloween is about dressing up as something terrifying or inhuman and as much as Liverpool likes to think Mrs T clawed her way up from the fiery depths, I wasn't going to dress as her for a piss up in North London.

I went as Polly Toynbee instead and I'm rather annoyed no one got it. I even had the silly necklace, bottle of Tuscan olive oil and a champagne flute. I despair, I really do.

The Beard Should Have Been A Clue

Scratch scratch!

 I know that Mike Hancock has been getting messages telling him to get himself down to a clinic. Surely staffers have many things to be getting on with at the moment, even the Lib Dem staffers?

Once upon a time, I knew an entire 5-a-side football team who caught something from the same girl. And yet somehow my mother still thinks my sister is the 'good daughter'...

When is a SpAd not a SpAd? When it's written on their business card!

Clenchy Monday

There's a very strange vibe on the estate today, a real kind of tension in the Tory camp. It's like everyone is clenching and unclenching their fists as they walk and talk. Speaking of fists - has Carswell been involved in any other arguments after the fun of last Thursday? Discretion is sometimes needed, chaps.

The boss has taken to tapping the sharpe end of the letter opener on his desk. I'm expecting to walk in at some point and find him carving live free or die into the surface. When Facilities see the mess he's making, it will be me that has to make the excuses. Just like the time he was caught drawing taches onto posters in the constituency office.

I do have a confession to make and I'm not proud of myself. I quite literally bumped into Speaker Bercow in a corridor and as my brain processed the nomal suit and bowling walk, I thought 'hellooooo!' which was quickly followed by 'oh dear god, Flick, you really are one smile away from dry humping the furniture!'

Toodles x

"Rebel, rebel your face is a mess"

For most of Thursday afternoon my boss and I pondered the PM's decision to act like such an arse. He could have allowed a free vote and quietly spoke to rebels as and when he needed. He could have let them blow off the steam in a vote and then kicked everything into the long grass. Either way the vote wouldn't have to be acted on soon, if at all. But instead Cameron has gone in a bit too heavy handed. It all makes me wonder what Steve Hilton has said on the whole thing.

Those MPs who will rebel are unlikely to change their minds. Some will have been very loyal up until now but for many: the EU is the line in the sand.

I left the boss biting his nails, still caught between confusion and anger. Confusion around the PM's motives and angry at Eustice's amendment email. There was no need to ask my boss how he will vote.

Goodnight. x

Hello, is it me you're looking for...

The office phone rang before I had a chance to log in to my pc on Tuesday morning. I only answered it because I could see from the display that it wasn't from the constituency. Calling me before I've had my coffee and then staying silent on the line is a guaranteed way of pissing me off. I knew there was someone there as I could hear background noise and after saying "Hello" twice I put the phone down.
It happened eleven more times throughout the morning and I became more and more aggressive with each one. By lunch time I had reached "Look, if this doesn't stop I'll give your number to police so they can find you and kick your family pet. I'm sure you've got better things to do and if you haven't, might I suggest you use this time to look for a job. Goodbye!"

That seemed to work for a good few hours, until another call came through on the same number mid afternoon. However this time there was someone there, someone from the CSA. I didn't bother asking if they had trouble with their phone lines, I just hope my pet threat hadn't been recorded. 

There's a wiff in the air and it is definitely the smell of euroscepticism. It's invigorating! There's shenanigans afoot on the backbenches and if Dave isn't careful he's going to find himself surrounded.

Nearly time for PMQs again. I wonder if Ed can build on his success from last week?

Oddbins and Offended Pot Plants

The photos of Oliver Letwin dumping paperwork into a park bin caused a great deal of giggling in my office. It's general knowledge that Letwin should never be allowed to do anything without a babysitter. Yes, he's a very smart chap but there's a distinct lack of common sense or awareness. You only have to ask a few knowledgeable folk about his confusion to Cameron's 'Twatgate' to find that out.

What is this word 'twat' which you speak of?

I'm sure most MPs wish they could dump some of the more hysterical constituency paperwork into a bin. Maybe set fire to it. Perhaps after they have ripped it into a hundred pieces and poured coffee over said paperwork. But very few of them would actually do it, let alone in a public park with witnesses!

The boss wasn't all that surprised when Dr Fox threw in the towel. As Sky News announced it as breaking news, I'd given the old sod a call.

“He's gone and it had nothing to do with the shocking shirt he wore to his birthday party.”

“Damn shame but it was the only way.”

“Who do you think will replace him?”

“It won't be me,” long pause, “not after what I said to Cameron at conference.”

“Are you sure it was him you spoke to because you were threatening a pot plant in the Midland at one point.”

“We agreed not to speak about that!”

Normal Programming Has Resumed

I don't know about everyone else but I do wonder why I spent several days in Manchester. It was lovely to see so many people and catch up but I didn't actually do anything other than drink, bitch, gossip and occasionally getting lost. One doesn't have to go to happy, cheerful Manchester for that.

The journey there was very much like travelling with the ferryman to the other side: a long, fearful journey filled with the ramblings of an old bastard, to a destination which may very well be hell. Thankfully, after a while my boss had fallen asleep. I say thankfully - this did mean I had to repeatedly apologise to other passengers for his snoring and occasionally mutterings of "You bloody dwarf, that's a cape!" I considered using half of my chicken caesar wrap to muffle the sounds but this plan had a high chance of failure, as well as death.

Apart from the chicken wrap, the only other real food I ate in Manchester was at the Love Luton reception. Real food, drink and music! I felt very spoilt. Everything is hazy after that but I do know that I had an argument with a teenage nerd, in the main lounge area in the Midland, about who would win in a knife fight - Jeff Randall or Adam Boulton.

A few obvious rules to surviving a party conference:

1. Pack lightly. Men can get away with taking only one suit, four shirts and three ties to conference. Women bring their entire wardrobe and then complain that they can't drag their suitcases to and from the hotel
2. If an event or reception has the words 'Future' or 'Regional' in it's title then be prepared to walk in, slam two glass of free wine and walk straight back out again. Don't feel bad for the old 'Drink and Run' routine, you're saving yourself from an excruciating hour of dull, patronising chat. Focus on the wine and then move on
3. Food must be considered. Don't rely on crap canapés - mini pizzas or meat on a stick is the way to go, not sushi or carrot sticks. Unless you're a whinging vegetarian or a mad as f**k health enthusiast, there's no reason for you not to fill your gills with fatty, stodgy food if it crosses your path
4. Don't bother with the leader's speech. Only pole climbers, stalkers and pensioners queue up for hours to see a leader's speech. It will be all over the media after and you can still get a sense of cringing embarrassment via the TV
5. Even if you're not a smoker, always check out the smoking area of a hotel in the early hours of the morning if you're passing by. You're almost always guaranteed to spot at least one MP doing something they shouldn't be doing with someone one half their age
6. When merely hanging out with friends and associates, try not to name drop or brag about your conference encounters too often. Those around you will be rolling their eyes as soon as you look away. Yes, yes you've shaken William Hague's hand, congrats!
7. Always give yourself fifteen hours after leaving the conference before heading back to work. Passing out for three or four nights in a row does not count as sleep. If you get back to your desk too soon, you may as well throw you computer out of the window for all the work you'll get done

The recess and conference season is over, bring out your dead! The toil and strife of everyday life in Westminster will continue and normal progamming has resumed.

Will Ken Clarke continue his battle with everyone else in the Cabinet? Will Chris Huhne give up all pretense and start communicating with just "vroom vrooms"? And will Dr Fox begin his statement with "Now everyone has a friend who takes the piss and hangs on your coattails..."

It's good to be back.