I’ve done something morally dubious. I know, that’s not like me at all. Last week George and I were playing desk basketball in his office and he popped out quickly to tell someone to make another £10m cuts to something or other. I got curious and ended up having a bit of a root around. All of a sudden I came across a worn leather book. OMG – it was his diary, just sitting there for anyone to find (underneath a pile of papers at the back of his locked desk drawer). I’d like to say I hesitated for a moment to consider the ethical implications of my actions but that would be ridiculous – I dived straight in.
The first thing I noticed was the note written on the inside cover. It read ‘To George, you crazy bastard. Go make it happen – your best bud, Lucifer’. Can you believe it? I thought I was his best bud! I brushed off the stab to the feelings and turned to the first entry:
‘OMG. Megalolz. I’m the Chancellor’. Hmmm. Not exactly eloquent. Should I be worried? Is it too much to expect some emotion? I wept like a child when I became Prime Minister. Granted I’d also just been watching the Notebook but it still counts.
The next entry went like this: ‘Presented at a Paralympics medal ceremony today. It was sort of cool but the booing was odd. Why would the entire crowd boo someone who’s just won a Paralympic medal?’ Oh George. Doesn’t he realise that I fired someone for that PR balls up? A person literally lost their job and he doesn’t understand that the crowd’s hostility was aimed at him. Bless him.
The next one was to the point: ‘Autumn Statement done. JAGERBOMBS!!!’ I’m pretty supportive of the central thesis of this entry.
Alas George soon returned, so I will have to make do with having read only three entries (four including the note from his rather worryingly named friend). What to make of it? Well I’m clearly not the only one who keeps a self indulgent diary, though I’d like to think mines a little more articulate. I suppose there’s a reason I’m PM and he’s only Chancellor. That said, I respect his secret love of Jagermeister, though I wish he’d been more open about it – I’ve been looking for a new drinking buddy ever since Hague decided he preferred Smirnoff Ice.