The King, and his right hand man.
5 May, 2006
The alarm clock goes off at 6 am. I throw it out the window to show the fucker who’s boss. Early meeting with GB. We spend the morning on a quick ministerial audit.
Reid: Sucks up to Blair when he’s tired of sucking up to businesses. Bastard.
Beckett: First against the wall when GB is king. Bastard.
Straw: Too nice for his own good. Toady bastard.
Alexander: Blairite arse-licking house elf. Bastard.
Darling: Safe pair of hands. Probably a bastard.
Smith: Millie Tant. Boring bastard.
Milibands/Milburn/anyone else beginning Mil: Don’t know, don’t care.
Tactics for the rest of the year: shag Darling and Smith, marry Straw, kill the rest.
Bad start after I spend the afternoon trying to track down people who knew Beckett at school and draw a blank. Home time approaching, so I sign Alastair Campbell’s email address up to 37 different porno sites in a bid to get something out of the day.
12 October, 2006
HUGE NEWS! Those useless shits at Tory central office have inadvertently posted a report into regulation of the pensions industry a day early on their site. I charge round to Balls’ office.
“Ed!” I shout, “Get your fat arse on Sky News this second!”
He turns to the crowd of kids. “I’m sorry about this.”
“What are these little scrotes doing in here?”
“They’ve come all the way from Nottingham. It’s an open access visit.”
“A what? Right. Do you lot have a bully in your school? Well what you do is, you grab his nuts, you twist them and twist them, and eventually they come off in your hand. And then you jump up and down on them. You get it? Don’t just beat the bully. BE the bully.”
“That’s politics Ed. That’s all they need to know.”
Ended up a great day. Ed sacked off the kids and a coffee break with Mervyn King about bank regulation or something, and as a result we got him on News 24, Sky, Daily Politics, clipped on Channel 4 and we even managed a sneaky five minutes of Paxman shouting at a Tory wonk while Ed’s massive bloody face smarmed at him from a video screen. Magnificent stuff.
Phoned the cops pretending to be a concerned neighbour who’d overheard screaming and crashing from Campbell’s house and finally got to bed around 2am.
June 27, 2007
“All eyes you draw, and with the eyes the heart:
Of your own pomp, yourself the greatest part:
Loud shouts the nation’s happiness proclaim,
And Heaven this day is feasted with your name.”
Where else to turn but Dryden? Yes, Gordon’s time has finally come. DPMcBride backed the right horse in the long run! Oh, glorious, glorious day! The future is bright for - oh, ten years at least. The economy’s booming, and as we all know, that’s all that matters.
The Prime Minister - Prime Minister! - can throw staplers, he can stomp around Number 10, he can, I dunno, insult a pensioner or something - those braying shits across the chamber can’t bloody touch him. Screwing with them now would be like kicking them when they’re down. But more fun, so that’s the next six months sorted.
Don’t tell me it didn’t come at a personal cost. You think GB only had to run against one candidate because he was the best? I know where the bodies are buried. [REDACTED]’s still terrified I’m going to forward that picture to the Mail newsdesk. No danger of the car keys going in the bowl at *that* little party. And his mate [REDACTED]’s going to be busy fighting over custody of the children for the forseeable. Best of all [REDACTED] had to be talked down from his window ledge. Shame he changed his mind, but you can’t have it all.
Was in such a good mood I bought six bottles of Dom Perignon. One for me, five to Campbell’s house by courier. Would’ve thought it would take more than this to get him back on the sauce, but you never know.
April 11 2009
Oh HELL. I am undone. Somehow some lardarse Tory blogger got hold of those emails I sent Dolly regarding our plans for the website. It was knockabout stuff - Dorries is shagging so and so, Gideon wears a bra at weekends, Cameron’s got the clap. I was hardly framing anyone as a nonce (that was later) but this stuff looks so much more serious once it appears in the papers. It almost looks - I don’t know - nasty.
Needless to say GB furious.
“What the HELL were you thinking?” he thunders.
“They’re the enemy. I had to take them down for your sake.” That’s it. Loyal lieutenant. Might just save my skin.
“They’re not the enemy. The enemy are those BASTARDS in our party, you fat oaf. What were you doing about Alexander? Reid? They’re the ones who want to bring me down!”
I had nothing. Like Icarus, DPM had flown too close to the sun. I walked down the prime ministerial staircase one final time…
(Sadly our serialisation has to be curtailed here due to ongoing legal issues).
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