Rain, Rain Go Away.

The plan had been to do a small favour for someone and drop off a few bundles of leaflets. I rang the door bell about three times, getting increasingly annoyed that no one was answering – it was chucking it down and my umbrella was on it last legs. Eventually the door opened and an old boy, pulling his coat on, greeted me cheerfully. So now I was wet and feeling bad because I had tried to rush an old man who may well have been campaigning for the Tory Party since Macmillan.

“I'm glad you bought a brolly, I've only got the one. We should be done in a few hours and then we can enjoy a nice cuppa tea.” 

Drat. Granddad here thought I was delivering and campaigning with him rather than just dropping off. The urge to correct him with “sorry pops, there's a chocolate cake and bottle of rose back home that needs my attention,” but how could I? Here was an OAP prepared to walk miles in the rain for the cause and I just couldn't look into his friendly eyes and leave him to it. 

So that was how I found myself, wandering in an unfamiliar residential area, in the mist of what felt like a storm. All of my make up had dripped to my jawline and no cigarette had survived more than two puffs before it was cruelly taken away from me by the elements.

“Are you alright, dear?” A little old lady with a trolley asked as I desperately tried to get my lighter to work, in the shelter of a bus stop.

“I've gone out campaigning by mistake!” And then I dropped a bundle of leaflets to the very wet ground with a cry. She walked away pretty darn quickly as I rolled out every cuss word I could remember.

I've always tried to to keep to the rules when wearing a rosette; treat everyone and their property with respect. Don't kick their animals or their children and, even though it might seem like the only way to repeat some of the more sillier party lines, don't be drunk. The bit about the animals is the hardest one if you ask me – anyone who releases their dog with the shout “go get em” deserves to see me kick or swing my handbag at the drooling beasties. Dog slobber stains.

By the end I was seated in a rather musky smelling front room, drinking a perfect cup of tea, listening to the old boy's stories about elections past. Steam rose off my clothes and hair, making me look like a demon from the underworld. I'm scarier than that if you ask a union member, for I am a Tory.

And do you know what, dear readers? I actually had a really good day.

xx

Boobies to The Left of Me, Boobies to The Right

Nothing gets a God fearing Backbencher red in the face like accidentally bumping into them in a tiny lift. With my breasts.

Monday was terrible day. This was probably down to me starting the day out by screaming down my phone at 8am, with a coffee and ciggarette whilst freezing my behind off on the Embankment. It could well have been a scene from Spooks but with an excessive use of the F word. That would never have made it past BBC censors; smoking in a public place, I think not!

A magazine simply called Equility turned up in the post with the rest of the never-ending lobby crap. Aimed at women I believe. Despite being the only female in the office, I felt no need to open or read it. The boss picked it up by the very corner and asked "why are these silly bints sending me things about hairy nipples?"
I could have pointed out that it was a self answering question but why waste my breath.

My dear old boss had another encounter with nipples again when he clinked to read Guido's Daily Star Sunday column. When I asked him what he thought he mumbled "I don't know. I'm too busy trying to stop myself from clinking on the 'Star Babes'." There was a pause before he continued louder. "Do you think it will get past the firewall?"

 And he wonders why he's not running the country.

Return from Flick Mountain

Several weeks have passed since my last post. This must be blamed on the unfortunate business of moving flat and an extended stay at my parents' home. Sheer bloody hell, dear readers. On the plus side I've still been able to get my tush out and campaign for Boris as well as the local elections in the constituency. I was relatively sober for most of it.

Because I am the kind and caring sort, I made sure my family and smashing moving of furniture took place during recess so as not to annoy the boss too much. This means that now everything has settled down and I am able to relax once more in a location not inhabited by those with whom I share blood, it's time for the craziness to start again in Westminster. Thank God.

Toodles, darlings! x