You Can Get Me For Less Than £250,000

I missed a great deal of the weekend due to my beloved bestfriend, the bottle. All I was able to get from the Sundays papers was something about businessmen offering up £250,000, Indecent Proposal style, for a night with David Cameron. In a way this is good news - it means some of the ladies I know are no longer the biggest sluts in the Tory party.

Of course I'm sure that's not what the story was...

In other news I spent most of last week running around London, sweating profusely due to the suddenly hot weather, and looking like an overworked goddess. Why do I do this, why do I run around with a huge handbag and high heels? Why do I go to the effort to wear fitted pencil skirts and tailored shirts only to end up looking like a wrinkled bag lady by the end of it? And finally why do I spend a lifetime doing my hair only to drag it back into a knot with pens and lighters stuck through it?

Because I'm a sucker for attention and praise. Because nothing makes me grin more than getting a smiley face text from a frontbencher. And because I am, in my own way, a big old slut as well. My dear granny would be proud.

My new Total Politics article is online here

Toodles, darlings! x

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

A Whore in The Kitchen and a Cook in The Bedroom

For those of you who haven't seen my latest post over at Total Politics you can read it here. 

At the weekend I made an effort to cook. And I'm not just talking about toast or reheating something my flatmate cooked, no I mean a proper dinner with starters and deserts. Why would I waste a perfectly good Saturday in my kitchen when it could be spent shopping, sleeping or catching up on Merlin? Because of a man.

I'm waiting for the Sisterhood to moan about what they will see as a man domesticating a woman but they should wait until the end.

For the purpose of this diary I will call the man in question John. I met John recently and due to his tall stature, broad shoulders and handsome, chiselled features, I decided that he needed to get his cute little behind into my bedroom pronto. Mix in that he's a Tory and a well paid nerd and we have a winning combination. Congratulation John, you have been selected for a few rounds of Felicity frolics!

I don't have a problem asking men out, life is too short to play the maiden so inviting John around to mine for dinner was pretty straight forward. “Hmm yeah, that's very interesting. You know, I think you should have dinner at mine at the weekend. That way you get to try my rather excellent cooking and I get to learn more about what you do for a living. It would make for an interesting evening don't you think?” 99% success rate with that one. Never mind the fact I can't cook nor did I find any interest in cloud computing. All I know is that my dining table is within staggering distance to my bedroom.

I should have known my plans would go awry when I woke up on my friend's sofa at 11am, Saturday morning, the karaoke machine still buzzing away and a Simon Cowell mask sellotaped to my face. John would be at mine in eight hours and in my hungover state I knew this would not be enough time to shop for ingredients, cook, clean the flat and tart myself up. Had I learned nothing from all those hours watching Come Dine With Me? Something had to be sacrificed and it was to be the shopping.

A decision I later came to regret when the can of cream of mushroom soup in the back of the cupboard turned out to be cream chicken and mushroom and rather than having cream cheese to add to my beef stroganoff, I had to substitute with Dairylea triangles. Thankfully there was more than enough alcohol in the flat to keep me lubricated while hoovering and hair curling. The stroganoff looked like baby sick, the salad starter had wine spilt on it and I'd eaten half the desert ice cream. But dear readers, I looked amazing and I felt as smug as Speaker Bercow no doubt does when he's walking past tourists in the Central Lobby so I cared not a jot.

On the night I had asked John out, I had been so concerned with trying to work out what he would look like without his clothes on that I hadn't paid all that much attention to what he'd said. After 30 minutes of his arrival at mine I was bored. He was a lovely chap with a cute smile but the personality never expanded beyond agreeing with everything David Cameron said and programming software. Did I think the Big Society would have benefited from a name change? Should Conservative Future stick with the same Chairman? Should CCHQ stick with Merlin or find another system? I perked up at that point until I realised we weren't talking about knights and wizards. With a sigh I knocked back another glass.

I'd had enough at this point and promptly told him to help me get the ice cream from the kitchen. My kitchen is tiny and it's hard for two people to move around in there. To cut a long story short I was up against the fridge quite quickly and John, thankfully, wasn't talking anymore.

Was it worth it? Yes and no. Sadly any hopes I had had of uncovering a rampant sex god under the pleasant, introverted surface were dashed when he climbed onto my bed wearing nothing but his socks, and declaring “Landslide victory!” at the end of any intimate encounter should be made illegal. I won't use this post as a platform to criticise the man's technique cough-stamina-cough but I will confirm that afterwards I told him he had 15 minutes to get his breath back and then I would be taking over. No ifs, no buts. And as predicted: he did look gooood without a stitch on.

I have a sneaking suspicion he's going to ask me out to lunch in the coming weeks so maybe there's room for potential but only if he's prepared to sit through 'Felicity's guide to doing bad things in good ways' lesson.

After all - 'If you want something said, ask a man...if you want something done, ask a woman.'

Toodles! x

Once Again I Am Surrounded By Men

My return is imminent and I know how much this will anger some people. The less bitter majority of you, however, will hopefully cheer. Hurrah!

The results for the Total Politics Blog Awards 2011 have been slowly drip dripped on us all and I am very proud to have been included.

This little diary has made the Top 50 right-wing blogs and Top 10 Conservative bloggers. In both cases I appear to be the highest positioned sole female on the list. As the great Lady herself once said - "I owe nothing to Women's Lib."

Thank you to everyone who voted, you make it all worthwhile. x

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?