Jesus, Paperclips and My Damn Empty Purse!

I want to get rid of the new intern. Scrap that, I need to get rid of him! Tom has been with us for a few weeks and because he's familiar with the blog, it's been difficult blogging about what happens in the office in case he picks up on it. I'm obviously going to have to kill him. Or upset him so much that he leaves. I don't think that will be too difficult. On his first day I asked him what his hobbies were, he listed sports, politics and following Christ. That is a real conversation killer, I can tell you. Tell Tom you think Obama is going to win the US election and watch him go a funny shade of repressed purple. American Conservatives remain a complete mystery to me.

"I like your bowtie, Tom. Bowties are cool!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"O...kay." Mental note to self, Tom doesn't get popular culture. "So plans for the weekend - you're a young man in the prime of his life, you must have a packed diary with beers, tits, sports and more beer. Right?"

Nothing but an uncomfortable silence and judgemental stare. It was just like my first attempt at drunken pole dancing all over again.

We're coming to that time again when everyone gets in as much spending and IPSA claims as possible before the end of the financial year. Last week I ordered 100 pink paper clips. I didn't need them, I already had a 500 in my desk drawer but they're not pink so morally I win.

On a completely different subject which my dear readers may or may have not been aware of - I am now writing a monthly column for Total Politics magazine. My most recent article can be found here and I do encourage you all to read and comment. Even if it's just abuse, feedback is good. Who knows how long they'll be willing to use ink on the garbled craziness I cobble together so get it while you can!

And before anyone goes looking at the register of interests, I am not getting paid for these articles so don't waste your time, darlings!

Toodles x

Broken Printers and Crazy Pills

 

I am so angry I could quite literally punch the face off a squirrel. Is anyone else locked into what feels like an eternal battle with their printer? 

It says it has ran out of ink so I replace the cartridge. Then it needs to clean itself then initialise follow by a crash, a jam and ANOTHER clean! I’ve tried rebooting it and opening all the drawers. I’ve even taken to threatening it with fire and cold tea much to the bosses worried looks.  He can p*ss off since he’s STILL taking to his Lady Thatcher photograph! Sometimes it just feels like we’re all taking the same crazy pills. I could just climb on the roof and scream.

I’ve got a huge pile of work that needs scanning in front of me as I type this and it will not be getting done this evening. Nothing winds me up more than having to stay later than 7pm because of defunct technology. I've written to Sir Ian Kennedy at IPSA to request a second scanner or printer in the office but surprise surprise, not even a acknowledgement.

I’ve only left the office once today. When I wasn’t working or being insulted down the phone by bat sh*t insane newly elected Cllrs, I sat under my desk and had lunch whilst watching business in the house. I do wish we had a debate between Ed Balls and George Osborne every week, they're just so bitchy to each other. 

I'm giving up on the printer. I've got better things to do like trying to set up a meeting with a Minister despite the best efforts of his department mandarins. If they want to steal every moment of his day so there's nothing left for anyone else then fine. I'll suggest to the boss that he visit the Minister at home in the dead of night if I have to!

Okay... It is definitely home time.

Felicity vs IPSA

Since recess is slow and the only thing to look forward to is a pimms on the terrace, I would recommend that my dear readers send me bits and bobs I can post up here. Feel free to send me something funny, or weird or even down right indecent. If you think something is worth sharing then I am all ears and eyes.

I had this email today from a staffer working for one of the new intake.

Hi Felicity,

Just thought you may find this funny as you too are probably swamped by angry constituents complaining about the NHS reforms. After mail merging and folding the replies (there were many) I discovered that I had dated it 2010, probably because of the vast number of election letters I wrote around about this time last year. Anyway cue swearing and our shredder getting a work out !

Keep up the good work!

As I've mentioned in a previous post, IPSA have been changing their minds about things. Most recently it's the AV Referendum. A month ago this was perfectly acceptable to have on an MP's website, either for or against. In the time it's taken to put in the invoice, add the logos and maybe a few links or photos, IPSA have changed their policy and are now sending back claims. 

"It's against the rules."

"I was told differently a month ago."

"No, you must have been told wrong."

"When was this change made?"

"About two weeks ago."

"But...so it was correct then but IPSA have since changed the rules and we're being punished for your lack of communication? Do you have a email going out to tell MPs when there is a policy change?"

"No."

"So how are we meant to know?"

"I would suggest that if you or anyone else in the office is unsure about what is and isn't allowed then you should call and ask us."

"THAT'S WHAT I DID A MONTH AGO!"

Goodnight.

PICT, Interns and The Ugly Game

The office was an uncomfortable place to be today for several reasons. Firstly there was the sodding rugby and my male colleagues were arguing about who were the better team.

I know that disliking the rugby and the cricket and horse racing and all other sports makes me a bad Tory. I don't care, not a bit. There are far more rewarding ways to get out of breath and sweaty, thank you very much. That grown men threw pens, box files and eventually a tea cup at each other has put me off even more.

Secondly there was the intern issue. The boss pulled me to one side and asked if we were paying Rachel at all. His ‘hands off’ approach is a bloody nuisance sometimes. I reminded him that we had started paying her daily travel about a week ago and I occasionally brought her lunch if I had felt that I had been particularly mean to her. This happens quite a lot.

I don't mind paying interns but I do hate the paperwork. It's just another form to fill in and send off to IPSA which they then process and use to magically suck the life from the poor soul who filled it in. I know this to be true and as such, have had a priest in to bless the IPSA filing cabinet.

According to the tech guys in PICT (Parliamentary Information Communication and Technology) one of the severs went down and this resulted in a number of MPs not getting their emails. So if you emailed an MP on Tuesday and thought 'that arsehole hasn't got back to me and s/he has a Blackberry!' then it will because of that. Possibly... 

The boss made reference to two MPs getting a bit touchy-feely in the chamber at the start of the week but he wouldn't say who it was. If any dear readers know, please do tell.

Had an email from a constituent asking why their local supermarket had put 1p on their petrol prices last week. Our response was mainly made up of the supermarket's customer service contact details and a 'feel free to ask them yourselves.' People are getting lazier, I swear.

"We wanna to be free to do what we wanna do!"

I thought since I had wasted a Saturday in Hyde Park listening to over paid union bosses and self-obsessed media luvvies, it was only fair that I also attend the Rally Against Debt. Who am I kidding? You couldn't pay me to keep away! It all sounds like jolly good fun and I look forward to chanting "Greed is good!" and "What do we want? More of our own money left in our pockets! When do we want it? Now or as soon as possible within a economically stable time frame!" Or something along those lines...

So I am looking for suggestions for placards and chants. What's the best you've got?

On another topic: I spent FORTY FIVE minutes trying to fix the bosses computer today. Seems something in the thingy got corrupted as a judge and stopped work. Cue lots of swearing and banging of fists from his corner. It's not like I had any of my own work to do. Oh wait... I've got into the habit of asking if he has turned it off and back on again just to pre-empt the PICT guys when I call them for help.

IPSA have been making a few changes to their policies. Problem is they're not telling any MPs or staffers when they do it. I am thinking about visiting a butchers, buying some giblets and then visiting IPSA on their home turf. I figured I would get a clearer and quicker answer to my questions by divining from chicken entrails on the street outside their office than I would if I emailed or called. Especially if I needed information first thing in the morning because those hard workers at IPSA start at 1pm. That's 1pm to 5pm! You chaps must be exhausted!

Toodles.

Dear Boss...

Jude Law, Sally Bercow and the joys of IPSA

Monday 31^st January

So the day didn't start out great. It does not bode well for the week ahead when you manage to slam your face into a revolving door before 9am on a Monday morning. The beauty of the glass doors at the front of Portcullis House means that most if not everyone can see it happen. If they didn't then they sure as hell heard me swearing.

The boss arrived in the office around lunch time and proceeded to violate my desk with a 100 ratty bits of papers. I can only assume they were from his constituency meetings. I think anyone else would have accepted that their pen was on its way out but no not him! He kept writing notes until the only way for me to know what it said was to rub a pencil over the indentations. I consoled myself with pretending to be Indiana Jones for those few minutes.

Like all other staffers who are in any way attracted to a nice arse in a pair of designer trousers, I moseyed on down to clap my eyes on Mr Jude Law in the Atlee suit in PCH. Apparently he was here for a charity event rather than researching for a part he's playing. Sorry for coming across so crude so early but he can play with my parts any time he likes! Woof!

People will advise against going for a drink on a Monday night but as it’s by far the most stressful day of the week then surely it’s the idea time? Oh how I miss Bellamy’s Bar.

Tuesday 1^st February

The boss had very sneakily slipped a twenty minute meeting in just before midday leaving me with the instruction to greet a school tour group. The horror! I don't mind saying hello to the constituents if it’s a small group of one or two but two dozen ten year olds? No, no, no!
When one young lad asked me if I had been there since Thatcher I was tempted to point at the child and shout out “terrorist”. Bloody cheek, I'm not even thirty yet.

There are many reasons to ring up Facilities and complain but saying “I’m getting splinters from the bottom of my desk and I fear the next one will spear my ball bag!” is quite original. My work colleague is nothing if not dramatic. Props to him however for getting a reference to his groin in just about every phonecall he has made today. They just can’t teach that in school.

I made the mistake of seeking peace and quiet in the Sports & Social before 2pm. I am not the sort to drink alone (not at work anyway) so our intern, Derek was dragged in with me. He's the quiet sort who will only drink orange juice but will then probably go home and drop kick his neighbour's cat over the fence. I have my eye on him.

Wednesday 2^nd February

The highlight of the week, well in terms of chamber activity anyway was upon us but the weekly knock about was overshadowed by other issues. PMQs are one of the few times when we can be sure that the boss will be in the chamber. You can't guarantee it 100% though. I know a researcher who lost a bet and had to spend 30 minutes in the office, in his underwear and believed that PMQs would be the best time to fulfil said bet. Ridiculous error when you consider he could have just done it on a Friday.

Anyway I digress. Wednesday was all about trees. Effing forests and who was going to own them. Hundreds of lobby emails and letters covered every desk in our dingy little office. I must have had a dozen phone calls from people wanting to talk about 'asset stripping' which is sadly nowhere near as saucy as it sounds by the way.

Left the office around 19:30 and was nearly knocked on my arse by a Ministerial Jag. Can't the driver read? There are signs around that say 'DEAD SLOW'. That's not code for 'aim for the skirt crossing the car park'. My favourite pair of heels was scuffed as I jumped out of the way. No chance of claiming that on IPSA is there?

Thursday 3^rd February

Claims were published today by IPSA. With their website crashing or freezing I was being told to call them. Pointless really as we should just wait for the hacks to have a look and come to us with the info.

IPSA BITCH! I typed this across the open word document a dozen or so times as I was left hanging on the phone to our darling IPSA friends. We are all IPSA Bitches now. I’ve stopped the boss calling them after the unfortunate incident involving him having a panic attack as they started asking him questions about stationary and town hall hire. Nothing throws suspicion over you like yelling “I’m too fragile for prison!” down the phone at an Independent Authority. I don’t know why he got so worked up, it’s all above aboard. Anyway, this is why I deal with it all now.

Derek has put in a complaint to the boss that he feels he’s being bullied. Just goes to show that the youth of today are thin skinned. You stick one little note to someone’s suit jacket that reads ‘Noakes’ next victim’ and suddenly we all have to discuss ‘workplace relationships.’ I know for a fact the boss couldn’t have given a rat’s behind about the whole matter but Derek’s daddy works in the Foreign Office...

Around 4pm the boss handed me an A4 printout of Sally Bercow in a sheet and asked me to file it away for the weekend. I don’t get paid enough for this crap.
 

 Felicity