Monday
Not happy. In fact I would say my GWB is at a record low. Among the deeply troubling unanswered questions I am wrestling with: Why was I not informed about Mr Simpson’s holiday reading list? Who authorised it? And what’s going to happen to the proper reading list I was tasked with drawing up?
The silly nonsense Biggles put on his list is just pointless, a load of boring old history books. Nigel is being v sweet about it and says we might leak my list to the press separately, since it’s a feast of populist headline-grabbing stuff like Jordan’s Perfect Ponies and Who Moved My Cheese?, the cutting-edge self-development book that no self-respecting Conservative change-maker should be without as he relaxes on his friend’s yacht in Porto Cervo this August. Or so my recommendation said. It may never see the light of day now, tragically.
Tuesday
Mr Gove’s speech attacking lads’ mags has caused an awful rumpus. Well, it’s not his speech exactly, more a breakdown in Joined-Up Policy Launch Communication Facilitation. OK, so I forgot to clear out all the copies of Nuts and Loaded in our offices. But there are just so many of them. We have to have them delivered to keep an eye on all the photo-shoots Dave is in, not to mention the lists of ‘Top 100 British Babes’, in case any of us girls are in there — we usually are somewhere!
Problem is, they’re not always in the obvious places. I did the Shadow Cabinet room, Leader’s Suite, and Office of the Former Shadow Home Secretary of course. But I forgot there’s a whole pile of Maxims and Zoos (and possibly a Penthouse) under a pouffe in the Tranquillity Room.
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