I didn't see them but the boss tells me that there were MPs queuing up to get in the chamber before 10am. "Bunch of sycophantic arse-kissers" as he like to call them.
He ambled his way over to the chamber at 11:20am. I received a text shortly after: No seat. Standing like a tit. I was tempted to text back and ask what kind of freaky tits had he been looking a recently but couldn't be bothered.
Any plans that I might have had for this evening went via the u-bend at around 7pm. The TUC were having a NHS or some such reception and the boss wanted me in there. Man alive was I bored! When it became clear that despite my shy smile and nervous air, I was in fact a baby eating Tory it went somewhat down hill.
I am never very good at anything undercover. I have a tendency to say things like "Yes but you're a socialist and therefore have no concept of ownership or responsibility." They don't like that.
Everyone remembers that scene from Fawlty Towers when he attacks the car with the tree, yes? If not then you're either far too young and you should be revising for an exam or you've been living under a rock...in Mongolia.
Anyway, those that know what I mean when I say that I went 'totally Basil Fawlty' on a photocopier this afternoon. The buggering thing chose to break just after 6:30pm when I needed it most. If any dear readers witnessed a woman beating a machine with what looked like a stack of fuel duty lobby letters, than that was me.
I'm writing this on the train home, squeezed into my seat by a giant man in headphones. He is wearing a Baywatch t-shirt. I feel very uncomfortable.
I am considering breaking my own rule of 'only heels at work'. When you're walking down the principle floor corridor at 10pm shoeless then it's time to admit there's a problem. Thankfully there were very few people about to see me.
Goodnight.
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