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.

Spring Forum and the Fake Tan of Death!

I learned a few things this weekend and no, I'm not talking about Conservative Party polices or No to AV campaign tips.

I will NEVER ever let the boss pick the music for a journey again.I had to sit there for hours as he swerved the car in time to either brass band music, The Bee Gees or Lilly Allen. I drew the line at Lilly f*cking Allen and asked him to pull over in the next layby so I could have a cigarette. As I stood there watching the traffic, the wind ruining my hair, I considered making a break for it. Would the boss have noticed if I'd turned on my heel and run screaming across the road side field? Probably.

The hotel was actually a B&B. More than a few of the rooms had scuffed boot prints against the doors but it had better carpet than Westminster Palace so it’s swings and roundabouts really. 

I accompanied the boss on Friday and Saturday night. I must say there wasn’t much of a vibe. Normally everyone is happy to get together, gossip and speculate but this time it felt flat and forced. Cardiff is great but let's face it boy and girls, it's no Brighton. At last year's Spring Forum I found myself at a house party sharing a bottle of something that tasted like strawberry 20/20 with a chick with a mohican. How I got from the Conservative Friends of Azerbaijan reception to sitting in an empty bath chatting with a girl who had more piecing than I have fingers, I'll never know.

Something I did notice about Spring Forum this year were the Cfers. I just can't tell whether they're getting younger or I'm getting older. Either way, I'm all for political zeal but there's a fine line between determination and desperation.
Ladies: if we want conference to be like a cattle market we would hold it where they film The Only Way is Essex. I swear there were times when senior MPs or indeed the Prime Minister would mingle with the norms and you couldn't hear yourself think over the dreamy sighes, excited giggles or the sound of a push-up bra being adjusted.

Regular readers will point out that I tend to wear inappropriate shoes to work but I do team these with tasteful blouses and pencil skirts. Live the stereotype, you know?

I blame the mixing of G&T, wine and champagne for the horrendous state that befell me Saturday morning. It’s bad enough waking up in a hotel room and forgetting where you are for a few seconds but imagine waking up on a hotel room floor. Thank god for the half decent carpet.

As I tweeted over the weekend, I did on more than one occasion either hear my name being said or was party to a conversation about me. It seems that this little diary has certainly sent tongues wagging! Dear readers please remember, sometimes the fun is in the not knowing. Or in my case, the fun is in other people not knowing. I am in politics after all.

Roll on Manchester I say.

"We've gone on holiday by mistake!"

We're heading to Cardiff tomorrow (Friday) and I've been set on Go Felicity, go! since the break of dawn. It's been a long day and I'm writing this at my desk. It's still sticky from where I dropped my coffee. Thankfully it went over the keyboard and paperwork rather than my dress.

No drunk MPs today. Quite the opposite in fact with the boss declaring a dry spell until he reaches sunny Wales. I can only take him at his word of course. For all I know he was necking something from the drinks cabinet when no one was looking. It wouldn't be the first time...

I will endeavour to get some gossip or stories from conference but I worry it will just end up like last year. I was either drunk, hungover or drunk with a hangover. Brighton is a very hilly place to visit and I didn't take any flats. It was sheer effing torture.

I would be tempted to dump the boss and do my own thing but if we team up we both win. He has someone young and attractive (if I do say so myself) with him making sure he sticks to the plan and I have someone paying for my drinks for the whole weekend. At £10 for a G&T that sounds like a good plan.

Dear readers, I will love you and leave you now. Feel free to email, comment or tweet me if you're in Wales or if you have anything juicy. I may even post pics if I am sent them.

I'll be the blonde at the bar...