DIARY OF A NOTTING HILL NOBODY
Monday This is ridiculous. I can’t be expected to understand the Labour leadership rules and off-balance-sheet arrangements.
I’ve told Nigel it’s composite motions or derivatives, not both. My head won’t stand it. For the life of me I can’t see how something worth £738 billion can also be worth £36.8 billion. Wonky Tom says it’s simple: ‘The fair value is smaller than the notional amount.’ He may as well be saying ‘la la la la la elephants in pink pants’.
It’s days like these I feel sure I should have stuck it out at the gallery and got married. I suppose I could try and keep my head down until the markets recover and General Well Being is back on the agenda. But what if we can’t afford GWB any more? Like green taxes. I used to enjoy briefing our Fairer Skies document, or Greener Grass, or whatever it was called. Those were the days, eh? Still, at least I’ve got Operation Palin to get on with.
Tuesday Just spotted my cousin Laurence on TV carrying a cardboard box out of Lehmans. Felt a bit scared. The recession is getting closer. Daddy was panicking this morning about the cost of horse feed. If he even talks about selling Sesame, I will leave home. No, I will leave the country. Laurence selling his Porsche is one thing. But the very idea of selling ponies! It just isn’t decent. And all this talk of people in Kensington giving their poodles away. I can’t bear it! Didn’t really need another talk from Dave about the dangers of complacency. Could have done with one about the dangers of desperation.
What’s the point of having a Conservative government in 2010 if we’re all going to be so poor we have to sell our animals? We need to do something now, before any more innocent pet-owners in SW7 go to the wall. Might work up a memo.
Wednesday Up all night putting finishing touches to my Economic Rescue Package for Pets. It wrote itself. Operation Palin, on the other hand, not going well at all. The silly woman still hasn’t sent us a photocopy of her passport. We told her she couldn’t come without one but she just kept shouting: ‘We’ll see about that! Who is your chief of police in Birminghamshire, England?’ Oh dear. I wouldn’t like to be the person at the Late Accreditation Centre when she arrives. Problems with Dave’s speech too. Sam’s been so busy at Smythson’s she hasn’t had time to write it yet. She’s having her mates round tonight to try and kickstart the process over tapas but it’s getting awfully late. We need to see the first draft so we can do logistics. Plan A, for Dave to be lowered on to the stage by invisible threads was vetoed on health and safety grounds. This leaves Plan B: Dave rises from an opening in the stage floor. Or Plan C: Dave stands on a mechanical mini-stage that moves him out into the adoring crowd as if floating. The engineers say we have to make a decision about what direction we want him to go in by Monday or they can’t deliver. Talk about inflexible.
Thursday It’s no good everyone having a go at me now. I warned them it would happen. And it could have been worse. ‘Cameron calls for Labour to come clean about off-balance-sheet leadership arrangements’ is not too bad as press release cock-ups go. Anyway, was overexcited about Jed’s memo from California: ‘Tell Tamara Pet Pensions are Go’. So exciting!
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