Monday V nerve-wracking weekend. Thought I was going to get
the sack for leaving the mike on during Dave’s meeting with Mr Obama. Wrote a long email of apology to Gary cc Nigel for accidentally forgetting to tell the ABC cameraman that it was pictures only, but Gary sent me a memo back, cc’d everyone, saying that my actions were ‘inspired and brilliant’ and ‘a shining example of the sort of initiative you should all be taking’. He keeps winking at me saying ‘accidentally eh?’ Decided to go along with it, although am nervous about why no one has worked out what a huge blooper I made. Now Gary says I’m in charge of Holiday Management. This means all sorts of trouble, including going down to Cornwall to arrange photo ops and do wardrobe duties and refuse surveillance in case the kids throw away icecream wrappers. What a nightmare!
Tuesday Up all night ripping realistic-looking holes in Dave’s T-shirts so he looks ‘properly relaxed and completely unselfconscious’.
Am running out of photo ideas. He’s walked down a beach, sat on a rock, chatted with locals and worn three different pairs of Villebrequins. Phoned Gary and floated the idea that as Gordon had now gone to ground and we had clearly won the War of the Holiday Photo maybe Dave could kick back a bit and have some down time. He went ballistic. ‘The Project doesn’t do down time!’ Am to deliver another two days of Positive Images or I’m not to come home. It wouldn’t be so bad but I’m not getting any help from Sam. She just sits at the kitchen table all day churning out page after page of conference speech drafts, while yours truly is left to ring round paparazzi and tip them off about Ice Cream Moments. I wish she’d think about someone else for a change.
Atmosphere not helped by the fact that Dave is upset he hasn’t heard from Barack since the weekend. Keeps asking whether I think the CDs were a bit too indy. Should we have put some Jamie Cullum in, etc, etc. I’m to write a report on ‘lessons learned’ so that we don’t make the same mistake next time.
Wednesday Back from Cornwall thanks to arrival of posse of Sam’s friends who have taken over Holiday Management along with Speech Duties. I never want to see another Cornetto. Things much more relaxing here. Except for Gary running around screaming ‘Get me Lily Allen on the phone!’ every five minutes. Honestly, the girl had one good idea about knives, which wasn’t much of an idea when you think about it — ooh, knives are bad! — and all of a sudden she’s Philip Gould. Personally I think it’s a mistake to ask for her advice on our spending plans, but there we are. Nigel says unless I have a better idea then I should keep quiet.
Thursday Strange dream last night about Mr Purnell. He was standing on top of a huge pile of ripped-up red tape shouting about how he was going to cut inheritance tax and stamp duty on shares. Then he went all wobbly and turned into Mr Burnham who was promising to reform the NHS as his eyebrows got bigger and then turned into Mr Miliband raving about social responsibility and green taxes. Woke up in cold sweat. I’ve got to stop eating sweets from the Google-style gumball machine.
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