Boxers or Briefs - A Horror Story

I've written several times for this blog and elsewhere about slipping into events with free wine and tasties. I don't often mention the events I attend with my boss because very little happens at these.

After all, I am there to scout out the room before he gets there. I approach a few who I know will want to speak to him or him to them and I try for the life of me to remember something about them to mention when I subtly push my boss in their direction. He doesn't always need someone to guide him around the room and direct to who and what he speaks about but there will always be days when his brain is just too damn busy to do these sort of things himself. It's in those situations when I feel over-dressed for my role as carer.

The two of us were in such an environment recently and my face was starting to hurt from the fake smiling whilst my brain screamed for me to go hard at the wine table. We had been there for approximately 30 minutes when my boss disappeared from the room suddenly. He knows better than to leave without telling me so, dear readers, I just assumed he had headed to the little boys room. Looking back, oh how I wish I had been wrong.

Having circled the room several times, checked the hallway outside and the reception area, I had no where else to look but outside on the street. My first instinct was to panic before I convinced myself that he knew better than to get into a stranger's car and none of the puddles around where deep enough for him to drown in.

Suddenly he was calling me and rather than hiss “Where the f*ck are you?” I forced out a calm and concerned “Are you alright, you had me worried?”

“Come to the mens toilet, right now!” I have a male flatmate so this sentence did nothing but fill me with despair.

“Oh no, why?”

“For God's sake woman!”

“Okay, okay.” I could already see his head poking out if the toilets as I approached. My dear boss looked pale and sweaty. I was detecting the mad vibe from him and not in the Boris 'Jolly' Johnson kind of way.

“I need you to take this and then leave without speaking to anyone here. Don't stop until you find a bin and then get rid of it.”

I pointed at the knotted bin bag in his hand. Deep breath Flick, oh god no, that was a bad idea. “If that's what I think it is... Why can't you leave it in there?”

“And if someone finds it? Felicity, I am not asking!”

“You do not pay me enough for this.”

And that was how I found myself angrily stomping my heels down the street trying to find a bin, and then running away nearly hysterical when the bang landed with a thud.

At my request, the boss promised to never step foot in the restaurant where he'd had lunch that day, and I've taken to carrying around anti-bacterial wet wipes. His way of apology was a bottle of wine and slap on the bum. I'm sure that if I wasn't such Single Sally I wouldn't have giggled as much. Just call me Enemy of the Sisterhood!

Toodles xx

Beard Lovers, Soup Bringers and Yes Men.

In the past, I have welcomed the month of May with open arms and frilly undies. This year, however, it has been a bloody nightmare and the sooner it's over the better.

The boss had a few rather stupid ideas about events in the constituency to help him engage with his 

constituents and to make it seem like he's actually doing something. This has resulted in me spending the last few weekends in the constituency because it would be too much for him to do it on a Friday, wouldn't it?

IPSA only allow twelve claims for staff travel to the constituency, per year. At this rate I'm going to be paying for myself by the summer recess.

Then, on top of that, the boss's 'delegation' abroad last week had a small part of me hoping that he might come into contact with Somalian pirates and live in a tent for a few months. 

So all in all I've not had that much time to go home and chillax like a Prime Minister, I have however lost a quarter of a stone so, you know what they say about life and lemons...

A quick skim of W4MP Jobs, as you do, shows that Mike Hancock is looking for a Parliamentary Intern. The preferred candidates must be 'bright and hardworking' and must 'have a sense of humour.' Put beard fetishists down as a hobby/interest and it's a guaranteed win.

Liam Byrne is also hiring both a researcher and office manager. Rebuilds are a bitch, aren't they, Liam?

And one final job I wanted to mention is going at CCHQ - Database Administrator. 'The Database Administrator (DBA) is the custodian of the Party's data.' Ben Howlett need not apply.

Toodles x

Snores, Dave and Girly Porn

Wednesday morning started with a text from the boss asking me to pick up goats cheese, cigarettes and a spork. That alone was annoying – add in the fact that he'd sent it at 5.05am and I was seething before I could even remember whose bed I was in.

I've been meaning to call the bosses wife and try to subtly hint that she should take him to the doctors to get his breathing sorted out. I know it's pretty standard for older men to breath out of their nose like it's the only orifice on their bodies but not like this. At one point I thought he had actually fallen asleep at his desk. I turned, expecting to find him dribbling on his House Magazine but he was, in fact, wide-eyed and reading – with a curling, wobbling, wet sound rolling from both nostrils. How, in the name of God can you sit there making that sort of noise and not be aware of it??

I'm limited to what I can directly say to him, other than “Are you all right, you appear to be choking?” or perhaps “Would you like a tissue? I've just bought this industrial size box and I insist you take the whole thing!”

By close of business Wednesday, the new PPB had been put out. Enjoy!

I'm going to assume that this was filmed in his parliamentary office rather than his Downing Street office because of the dark work and lack of Ikea crap. I personally hate these sort of clips because of the blatant staging.

The unnecessary desk lamp on the end of a long conference table. The two mobiles and pen next to his right arm despite being left handed. The boring tie that doesn't attempt to be any colour for fear of meaning something it shouldn't. The orange make up and the files balanced, in view, rather than filing the red box all scream FAKE.

Tom mentioned that he liked the feel of it; it was warm and comforting according to him. I pointed out that this was purely down to the soft lighting which wasn't dissimilar to that used in the sort of pornography normally aimed at women. You know the sort – plot, piano music and men with long hair. It's all tender romance with the jiggly bits hidden behind a smoky lenses and candle light.

I can't comment on what was said in the PPB because I watched it with the sound down just as a member of the public would. Sue me.
Toodles x

Farmers, Madams and Wellies

It was a Thursday but I kept thinking it was a Friday and each glance at the clock was a disappointment.

There are few things as boring as DEFRA questions. Except maybe Welsh questions.

I know there are possibly plans for badgers and still issues with trees but, my Christ, I just don't care. Apologies to the many farmers who read my blog, I know you will be heart broken at this admission.

The only thing to happen in the chamber to raise the eyebrow of yours truly was the nerve of Fiona MacTaggart moaning about ageism from the Prime Minister. The same MacTaggart who had to apologise to Chloe Smith some time last year over remarks about her youth. As a nation we must stop electing goldfish to Parliament.

It seemed that the estate, like the chamber, was quite empty today. It's as though everyone stayed for the main attraction of PMQs and then headed back to their constituencies yesterday. Louise Mensch tweeted about having a surgery today in her neck of the woods; the very idea of that mystifies the boss. “On a Thursday? When the House is still sitting? Does the three line whip mean so little to the new intake?”

“You once said the only three line whip you cared about was the type being held by a Madam.”

“I never said I was consistent, did I?”

By mid afternoon he'd pulled on his ridiculous wellies and marched out the door, shouting over his shoulder “To the homestead!”

This week has gone very fast but, bloody hell, it's aged me.

Toodles x.

No Rest For The Wicked

Can someone tell me why I am still at work? It's 8:15pm at the time of writing and I could be in the Sports, in the M.O.G or at home enjoying a facial and a leg wax. I've been stuck at my desk for so many hours that when I rolled over to the filing cabinet and back, I knew the boss had, while my back was turned, moved something on my desk.

"What did you just do?"

"Grabbed a paperclip off your desk. S'not a crime, is it?"

"What's wrong with the box of clips in your drawer?"

"I prefer not to use those to pick the food out of my teeth."

"Oh delightful..."

Today I learnt that it's not okay to laugh when an MP falls out of a lift and that Alan Johnson will hold the door open for you but Ed Miliband won't even try. This, I feel, sums up Labour's problem. 

 

My Non-Job Award goes to this little gem - ME, Diversity and Faith Community Engagement and Campaigning Advisor. No, it's not union based or a Labour run Council position but rather a cushty little job over at CCHQ. I despair.

Thursday evening sees the CIPR PA Annual Parliamentary Researchers Reception and attendees can vote in the 'CIPR PA Westminster Researcher of the Year Award where nominations will be invited to identify the most hard-working and talented member of staff working in a parliamentary office in Westminster.'

Now I'm not going to suggest that you should nominate me because I'm any good at my job. No, rather to annoy all those who actually think the award should go to them. So if you're going and wish to piss someone off, VOTE FLICK! 

I shall now retire. Home is where my flatmate's warm beer and cold pizza wait for me. 

Good night x

Stand and Deliver Your Money or Your Life!

I am now engaged in an office share. I don't like it. That's the problem with the Houses of Parliament – any spare space must be used, even if it's a spare desk in a grotty office. The other staffer who has come to join us is what I would call a Matron and very nice but she doesn't stop talking. Ever. Even when I had my head phones in and watching The Iron Lady trailer she rolled her chair next to mine and proceeded to give a running commentary. All in all it's made the boss a bit tetchy...

“It's not at the top of my list today but if I cross paths with Shagger Mercer, I am going to have words!”

“Over the Cameron comments?”

“Oh indeed.”

*heavy pause* “You have said worse...”

“Yes but either in private or to the man's face! You don't say things like that about the Prime Minster in public. It's the rules, Felicity dear.”

In the House of Lords, first floor over at the West Front, is a notice board full of union leaflets. It's the usual thing about cuts and George Osborne dressed as a highwayman. The boss and I had to walk past it today and the old boy growled. “It's a bloody disgrace!” I watched him look up and down the corridor shifty like. “You'll get caught,” I muttered, “just like the time you tried to take down the PCS Union poster near the post room and by the by - I can NOT run in these heels.” Thankfully he let it go and lunch was enjoyed by all.

An invite came in today for an event campaigning for the 'Criminalisation of Aggressive War'. What a bloody stupid campaign. Oh yes we're against aggressive war but passive war? Get stuck in sunshine!' I'm not sure why but that was said in an Eric Idle sort of voice. I think I need sleep. It has been a long week... What day is it tomorrow? Oh sod it.

Goodnight x

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

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!”

Monkey Nipples, Chinese and Somerset.

I thought I was being so clever getting into work at 8am with the plan to work my behind off and then skip out the door again at 3pm. This must have been glaringly obvious to the boss when I opened the office door and whispered "Oh...monkey nipples" as I saw found him sat behind his desk.
He could have signed the letters and left knowing full well that we all had work to do but instead he sat there loudly reading from his stack of newspapers and occasionally adding to my to-do list.

 
At 4pm, after throwing seventeen rolled up bits of paper into my hair and eventually boring even himself, he left.

It was dark by the time I got home Monday night. In fact I am writing this on the floor of my living room. Chinese take away on one side, wine and cigarette on the other. Next door my flatmate appears to be 'trying something new' with his girlfiend. I do believe that's the polite term for it anyway.

The boss is opening a new football pitch in the constituency this weekend and I really should be writing the five minute speech that he's asked for. I'm thinking up bad puns to use in between mouthfuls of noodles and smoke. Greasy, tarry goodness...

Posts have been thin on the ground recently due to my brilliant idea of getting all the important work done and completed before the end of the first week in August. Thus ensuring that I spend the rest of recess, drunk on the Terrace. There I shall lounge like an Somerset MP!

Of course when I had the chance, I wrote one or two posts for Total Politics. Don't worry, you won't find anything analytical or cerebral from me as per usual. Posts are here and here.

 Anyway, toodles and goodnight! Let's all keep our fingers crossed for those growth figures, shall we?

National Lampoon's Portcullis House

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...

Toodles.

Sports is Sporting, What What?

I am tempted to apologise for the late posting but I won't. I was somewhat distracted last night and I can say with a great deal of exuberance that it was bloody well worth it. Said distraction would also be the reason behind my lateness to the office this morning and the huge grin I'm sporting. I can confirm dear readers that I am indeed currently without regret or frustration. Don't worry, I won't bore you with anymore details about my sex life but let’s just say that I am rather glad I went to the Sports and Social last night.
  
No emails from the boss this morning. I was concerned until I found a post-it on my desk.

'FIX MY SODDING OUTLOOK. Please?'

I can only imagine how long he was here last night shouting at his laptop, punching random buttons before finally slamming it shut and then violating the stationary on my desk. It's taken me all of five minutes to solve the problem. We get BBC News emails sent automatically to us. It's bloody annoying as hundreds come through every day and take up space. Turns out the boss never knew about these and had not noticed the ten thousand BBC emails in his unread file.
I've never read these emails and if there is a way to stop them then I am all ears. Maybe we can get Sky News to send through information instead...

And before he mentions it, yes we do get Paul Waugh's very fine emails as well. x

Brian Binley and the Philosopher's Stone of Raw Sex Appeal

I can confirm that SexyMP.co.uk has lost its sparkle. This isn't down to the adverts or the men popping up on the women section, no. The boss has become obsessed by it. He's not happy with his ranking and has taken to emailing me and the others with the instruction to 'play it for five minutes and vote against those who are higher than me!!' We received this message every few hours all Thursday and Friday last week. Like all things in life, the website was more fun when we shouldn't have been playing it in the office. A bit like watching pornography when in a serious relationship...

It has been a topic of discussion in a lot of MP's offices, SexyMP that is, not porn. I read Brian Binley's remarks in a local newspaper. I do think from now on his staffers should answer all calls with "Good morning, you're through to the office of Brian 'check out his raw musky powers of seduction' Binley. How may he sex you up?" It would go down a treat with the older ladies in the constituency, they would love it.

Bad Granny! No Cash in the Attic for you!

Hopefully not to the extent that my dear old granny did. She once knocked down three shoppers on a busy high street with her mobility scooter all because she wanted to pinch a man's arse. It's all right when you're elderly you can get away with anything! I have to pretend to be reaching round to open a door, swatting a fly or swinging my handbag when I want touch a man's bum. Actually that's not 100% true, I did once pinch Liam Fox's rear during a photo call at an event but then if you can't do it to Dr Foxy, who can you do it to?

Good night.

Mugs, Jugs and Slugs

While I am off on holls hopefully enjoying some whirlwind romance or at the very least getting my jollies, I hope all of Westminster enjoys the visit from Barack Obama.

I imagine that Obama will be half way through his speech and all of a sudden Gordon Brown recreates the scene from The Graduate. I will be very annoyed if I miss that.

Dear readers do you ever wish to hint to your work colleagues that you may be an anonymous blogger, wind up The Daily Mail AND line my pockets at the same time? Well you're in bally luck!

A girl's gotta pay for her shoes somehow...

I am Felicity Parkes by FelicityParkes

And now all that remains to be asked is:

Will the bars on the Estate notice a drop in their profits while I'm away? Will I come back to find the boss accidentally hanged himself as he mucked around with the office blinds? Will George ever send me a thank you email? Should I do as heavily suggested to me and remove the website I set up documenting Jacob Rees-Moggs double breasted suits? Will the Speaker be annoyed when he finds out what I left in the green petition bag? And finally... how much will a glass of wine cost on the flight?

Toodles!

Pimms, Constituents and Brown

The highlight of my day was at the very start. I walked into the office to find a LARGE bottle of Pimms sitting on my desk. Stuck to the bottle was a post-it with a smiley face. I do love my boss sometimes. I know my dear readers will be thinking that statement odd given how much I complain about the old sod but he certainly knows how to push my buttons. The good and bad buttons.

We often get calls from constituents who want help for the most basic things. Some like to write in and say they’re thinking of starting a business but haven’t decided what or where yet but they still want the bosses advise and help. Others contact us mistakenly thinking their member of parliament is also their solicitor. In those cases we try to be firm but kind but if I hear the line “Why should I waste my time trying to call the CAB when you can do it for me?” I get twitchy. I have been known to bark “We can’t help you if you’re not prepared to help yourself!”

We had a call midday Tuesday from a person who wanted the MP to call their friend who was currently on a bus and somewhat down in the dumps. The caller said his friend just needed someone to talk to. You may think this sounds like a joke or prank call but it wasn’t. The caller became angry when I pointed out they had dialled the wrong number for the Samaritans.

There has been more talk today about Gordon Brown wanting the top IMF job. According to the New Statesman Gordon has told friends "he's not taking No for an answer."

Jon Craig talked about Gordon and the IMF this evening on Sky News. He said that Gordon had been networking in Westminster on Tuesday (I didn't bloody see him) and the general feeling is that 'he's forcing himself on Europe...'

What is it with these Socialists?

Boobs and Nazis

What a pair...

 Monday flew by. I guess coded bomb threats near Whitehall will do that to a working day!

I have just seen an advert for 3D footage of the Third Reich on the History channel. Come on, that’s going a bit too far now. I know that these days unless something is in 3D it’s not worth watching but if I want to see Nazis in more than one dimension I’ll go to a Fabian Society event. (Boom boom!)

We had a discussion in the office about the ‘life length’ test which was all over the news today. I don’t see the problem with finding out how long you have left since health plays only a part of it these days. You could jog every day and only eat muesli but that won’t matter a thing if you’re an idiot who doesn’t look when crossing the road.

The boss called me a few times this afternoon from the library and I had to text him at one point with stop calling. You'll get kicked out of the library!

He responded with I'd like to see them try! He wouldn't tell me why he was down there or what he was looking for. I just hope he wasn't just sat in a tea room somewhere looking at adult mags. 

Again...

This is why politics ages you...

I am currently sitting at my desk in sunglasses, surrounded by empty coffee cups and the remains of a bacon sandwich. Why do I do this to myself?

It could be worse though. I am fairly certain that the boss slept in his car last night and is looking like five different shades of sh*t. There is little being said in the office that doesn't resemble a death groan. It's all a bit tender this morning.

I certainly did the rounds last night. Yes, I am aware that doesn't sound very lady like and frankly you should be ashamed of yourselves for taking it that way. I did pop into the cider reception to enjoy a few glasses. It was really just three tables set up with a selection of drinks and lots of people stood around talking about apples. I was out of there after a few quickies. Jess Norman and Ben Gummer were chatting with a group off to one side and looking like a gang of school boys. Caroline Nokes was holding court at one end of the terrace and Rosindell and Fabricant were at the other. It upsets me greatly to know I left before Jo Johnson turned up or Joseph as I know he now wants to be known as. I think I saw Ed Balls in Strangers but by that point it was all a bit hazy. 

Gov Whip, Mark Francois was doing his cheeky chappy act at the reception. I know a staffer who is very taken with him and keeps bringing up the fact that he's single. Mark if you're interested let me know as she wants to give you her number!

All of this on top of the referendum celebration and the all-nighter for the local elections means that I look more tired than Caroline Flint!

Oh my head...

"No! I'll call Cindy McCain if I have to!"

Rachel and I have taken to teasing next door's interns. There are loads of them in there and I swear they are breeding like rabbits. I don't think the MP next door actually has any paid staff unless you count the grumpy, elderly woman who I see from time to time in the hallway. For a while I honestly thought someone had brought their granny in for a visit and then set her free to wander as she pleases. I had images of coaxing her back to the reception desk with a bag of knitting and a hot water bottle. Wouldn't be the first time...

Anyway back to the interns. Rachel has been here long enough now that she can pull off that slightly patronising yet confused tone that so many staffers tend to use. She really is coming along nicely! 

Is it wrong to take a couple of young eager beavers down to the car park beneath the Westminster Palace and leave them there in the dark with the instruction to not come back up untill they've checked all six levels for Simon Hughes' yellow taxi? I may have also told them that the rifle range was down there somewhere. I wonder if the MP next door noticed the difference in his office this afternoon.

I arrived back in the office to find my boss speaking sternly down the phone. "I've made this phone call several times now and I find it almost insulting that my suggestions are not being taken onboard! I demand to have the direct line to the Heinz CEO!"

"Oh not again. Give me the phone!" Cue wrestling for the handset.

"No! I'll call Cindy McCain if I have to!"

"Give me the...PHONE!" I got the phone off him and hung up. "How many times have I told you, she never worked for Heinz and you have to STOP calling up their customer service number and complaining about carrots chunks."

I don't get paid enough for this.

Goodnight x

Sun, Chocolate, Bercow and Babies

I walked into Portcullis House Tuesday morning without a coat after leaving it in the office on Thursday. I know many people are sniggering that it will be raining for the royal wedding but I wanted the sun shine to stay put. What’s the point in getting a tan if you can’t then put your skin on display for the world to see? Thankfully the sun broke through and succeeded in blinding me as I typed by mid-afternoon.

The boss has been on fine form all day. I walked in just before Big Ben chimed 9am to find him at his desk, feet up as he chuckled into his papers. I fear it may have been a sugar overdose from the weekend. There was a moment today when I stared at him in sheer absolute panic as he waved me off and trotted down to the Member’s lobby with chocolate stuck to his trousers. Frankly I give up. If he can’t even eat a chocolate egg, stolen from his children, without making such a mess then I don’t think there’s much hope for him.

I watched John Hemming MP try to raise the subject of Super Injunctions in the chamber today. Bercow slapped him down like a under paid pimp, it was a depressing sight. Whatever happened to Parliamentary privilege?

There have been whispers about certain individuals, true paternity and things people may or may not have done eight years ago before meeting their current partner. I will say no more as I don't know if it's true. However I will be keeping my eye out.

No reason fo posting this, I just wanted to share.

The Fresh Prince of Bone

The boss actually thought I was going to be in the office and working on Bank Holiday Monday. I received a call on my mobile at 3:30pm.

"I've been calling the office for the last ten minutes and no one is picking up, where are you?"

"I am currently sitting on my roof with a near empty wine bottle and an overflowing ashtray. Where in the name of Theresa May's shoe collection do you think I would be?"

"In the office: working!"

"It's a Bank Holiday!"

"Oh. Is it? That explains a few things. I'll see you tomorrow." Click.

One MP I did see about during recess was Peter Bone. Like everyone else he was somewhat dressed down. Untucked shirt, no tie or jacket and, amazingly enough, a pair of very trendy trainers! I thought for a moment I was seeing the Fresh Prince of Bel Air before me. Loving your style Peter.

One can only wonder what will happen during the next three days. Will it just tick along as normal with anti-Tory comments being made in the vain hope of being fired or will a senior Lib Dem finally grow a pair and just resign from the government they seem to disagree with so much? Stand up for your principles lads! And I say lads because they have so few women in their parliamentary party. 

Of course if you believe the Guardian or the Fabian Society then you'll know that the Lib Dems could lose the few ladies they have at the next election. Women with beards! That's the key. How could a local Lib Dem party turn down the chance to select such an individual? Cripes.