Diary

I don’t keep a diary any more, having decided that my past efforts contained too much that was either libellous or trite. However, leafing through a collection of oldies this week I noted one pertinent item, namely that when the National Insurance scheme was launched in July 1948, Bevan’s vision was greeted with mixed feelings by doctors and sections of the public, especially those he had designated as vermin. A sum of 4s 11d was docked from wage packets, of which only 81/2d went to the Health Service. In nine months, costs had already spiralled an extra £50 million from the original estimate of £176 million, prompting the BMA to predict national ruin. So what’s changed?

Sunday Most exciting day ever: had to activate the Early Warning System! First time it’s been done!! I knew as soon as I saw the headlines on grammar schools that I would have to do it. I panicked at first, but remembered my training. I broke the glass on the Emergency Point and took out the Guidance Pack. The cover note said, ‘You are reading this because a Negative Story has been in the news for five days. Stay calm and follow the procedures below. Above all: remain civil and compassionate.’ ‘1. Call Jed. In the event of Jed being unavailable call Sam, Francis or George B. DO NOT call Oliver, or any other Georges. 2. Divert all incoming switchboard calls to voicemail, and ensure front doors locked. 3.

MONDAY Am in severe shock. Just put the phone down from the Labour press office. Someone called ‘Bev’ rang to say she had found 15 inaccuracies in stories we briefed to the papers this weekend, including five major ‘porkers’ about Gordon’s economic record. She was v loud and bossy and went on and on about how gloves had come off and they weren’t going to take this &@*£ from us lying down any more. She asked me what I intended to do about it and when I said nothing she demanded I fetch my ‘supervisor’. I said I didn’t have a supervisor. She said ‘what a f@****@ shower’ and told me to ‘brace myself’ for a call from someone called Roger.

Everyone trying their best to look ‘socio-centric’ (Mr Letwin’s orders), but we are all secretly dreading this week. MONDAY Everyone trying their best to look ‘socio-centric’ (Mr Letwin’s orders), but we are all secretly dreading this week. Most of us have never known any other Leader. I will be glad when it’s over. Feels a bit like the time we all went down to Westminster Bridge to watch the great lost whale being towed down the Thames. We laughed and pointed, but inside you felt it was desperately sad and unfair. These reshuffle stories not helpful either. It is simply not true that Dave is going to demote Hague and Foxy.

Monday Jed in terrible mood. He’s been like it since last Wednesday when his bicycle broke down on the way to Stamford Bridge. I must say, I can’t quite work out how a bicycle can break down. I mean, what happens exactly? He had to keep texting the people waiting for him in the corporate billionaires’ box to ask what the score was as he dragged his bike along the street. He never did get there. Bit like a nightmare. Nigel says that sort of thing could turn a less message-focused man against bicycles for life. Scary! Wonky Tom reckons Jed turned up in a taxi this morning, but nobody saw it, and we can’t be sure. It is crucial that we clarify this.

MONDAY Phew! We’re back to just the one good-looking, charismatic David. All I can say is thank goodness for that! My mental health will be all the better for it and no doubt poor Mr Miliband’s will be, too. What a kerfuffle! He can bang on about his ‘I can’ philosophy all he likes, but when it comes right down to it he just so obviously jolly well can’t. Still, at least the soon-to-be-disbanded ‘Kill Mil’ unit has been useful. Am off there now to change into my Kate Moss for Topshop off-the-(left)-shoulder cocktail dress, ready for swanky Policy Exchange five-year anniversary celebration tonight at the Four Seasons. Everyone who is anyone in the world of compassionate centre-right realignment will be there.

MONDAY V annoyed. Am I the only one around here who hasn’t been offered a job at Google? Not a single phone call from a headhunter in the whole time I’ve been working my little Dolce & Gabbana boots off for the good of Modern Conservatism. The whole of CCHQ is downing tools and scuttling off to make megabucks in the private sector. Nigel says it’s the Brain Drain he’s been warning about since Jed issued a memo telling everyone that working on Project Dave was reward enough in itself and ‘let’s hear no more off-message nonsense about pay and conditions. We’ve all had to make sacrifices. And don’t forget: seasonally adjusted General Well-Being is up 5 per cent, year-on-year!

Monday Am going to get to the bottom of this Miliband unit if it’s the last thing I do. There’s something shifty about it, mark my words, although initial investigations are inconclusive. Kept eye on Poppy and James, and when they disappeared off to one of their ‘Special Meetings’ I followed them, crouching behind recycling bins — which, thankfully, are now located throughout the office at a distance of every four paces for the convenience of all staff and in the interests of future generations. They went into a room marked ‘Clearance Level Black Special’ (DD really takes this room-labelling business seriously). Stood outside for ages and couldn’t hear a thing. No talking. No papers rustling.

MONDAYFeel dreadful. Had horrendous nightmare last night. Was sleeping fitfully when a ghostly form appeared above my bed. He was tieless, wearing a white, open-necked shirt (possibly Paul Smith), the sleeves billowing as he held out his arms in a Messiah-like way. He had dark hair, pale, gleaming skin and deep, piercing eyes. At first I thought it was just Dave again. Then I realised — it was The Other Dave. He was calling out: ‘Come to me! I can! You can!’ Woke up in a sweat and couldn’t get back to sleep. Went out to give Sesame some hay at 3 a.m. She looked at me knowingly. Horses can tell when you are emotionally disturbed. Fell asleep in stable, woke late and had to call in sick.

MONDAY What on earth is going on? Ever since Budget day there’s been a really strange atmosphere around here. Can’t put my finger on what’s wrong except to say — I know this is going to sound hysterical — I think there’s some sort of situation developing between Dave and Gids. It could be nothing but it’s been haunting me ever since Dave got to his feet to fight Gordon armed only with a file full of dodgy jokes about Stalin (mostly Nigel’s, v poor). Given the circumstances, he did really, really well. I mean — 2p cut/10p band?! It’s all Dutch to normal people. But couldn’t Gids have passed him a little note or something? Apparently Osbers had it all worked out in seconds.

Monday Forty-one per cent! Would be nice to celebrate, but of course we know this is out of the question. Mr Maude is in bad enough mood already, since his attempt at optimism went so badly wrong at Spring Conference. He’d been practising sounding ‘noncommittally cheerful’ all week with our Wellbeing Guru, Sherwood. Before he went on they were backstage together blowing out their cheeks and shaking their limbs loose, the Frankster repeating, ‘I really believe we can win!’ and doing his special tantric smiling exercises. But when it came to the optimistic bit of his speech he just froze, and couldn’t get the words out. Ended up looking as if had been cryogenically frozen. Sherwood was weeping even more openly than usual.