DIARY OF A NOTTING HILL NOBODY
By Tamzin Lightwater MONDAY Dave opened the nine o’clock by paying tribute to a great former shadow home secretary whose place in history, and on the back benches, was now assured. ‘We will give him all the space he needs to fulfil his brave quest of being re-elected to his own constituency.’ Then we proceeded to Options For Handling/ Briefing Plans.
One — Personal crisis. Our thoughts are with his family at this difficult time etc.
Two — This is all part of a cunning plan to damage ourselves enough to Shore Up Gordon, and Stop Miliband.
Three — It is part of a plan for all Tory MPs to resign and put themselves up for re-election this summer in order to force a general election.
Four — We support him fully, and Dave is looking forward to helping him campaign.
Personally I think all are good — apart from Option Four which is contrived in the extreme, and has a whiff of desperation about it.
TUESDAY Thought it would be nice to take a welcome card and pot plant over to Dominic Grieve.
He was on his hands and knees with the carpet up — he’d found a trap door to a secret compartment! Dozens of copies of Guns & Ammo, mountaineering equipment, packs of dried food and bottled water, ice picks.
Dominic looked a bit scared. I tried to put his mind at rest. Told him everyone does the job differently. ‘You will bring to it your own unique style.’ He still looked crestfallen. So I told him Pret had named a sandwich after him — a French stick called ham and grieve! Think I may have overdone it by claiming all the girls were calling it ‘ham and Dominic’. But what else could I do? He looked so much happier.
WEDNESDAY Had to ring Doreen again to ask if she’d come and pick up the sacks of DD fan mail. She just laughed and said, ‘Aren’t people strange?’ Gary says we can’t afford to send it by courier, there’s too much of it. So Tom and I are going to have to take it up there by car. Am quite excited. We’re going to stay over at a little B&B in Howden. Will be quite cosy!
THURSDAY As I write this I am shaking with fear. Tom and I are locked in our room at the Stag’s Head. Neither of us can believe what we just witnessed. We weren’t expected when we arrived at the farmhouse. An awful storm was raging and the place was in complete darkness. Except for the huge forks of lightning in the sky. We knocked the door but nobody answered. We pushed and it opened with a terrible creak. We crept along echoing stone corridors as an eerie wind blew around us. Eventually we spotted a light in a room at the end.
We opened the door... Oh, the horror! There were photos all over the walls, pictures of Dave, Gids, Mrs Spelperson, Foxy, their faces terribly disfigured with darts through the eyes and noses. Someone had drawn a pair of glasses and a moustache on Mr Letwin. It was horrible.
He was sitting in the middle of the room, his white hair standing on end, all wild-looking.
I screamed and ran out and kept running until I got back to the inn. Tom was not far behind. We are even now huddled before the fire trying to get that terrible sight out of our minds. We must in due course tell those back home what we know. I just hope they will believe us.
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