The Honourable Member
In which I am suddenly thrust into prominence
Oh, hello! So there you are. Bet you thought you’d seen and heard the last of me when Teddy and I left Frame Hampton, Wilts (and I really do mean wilts, luv!). It’s been a busy time; a lot has happened.
You’ll never guess what, though. I’ve only got myself elected as an MP! An honourable member, no less. Part of the new red wall. No more Country Boys for me. (Well, not many!).
Three months after the July poll I’ve decided to break cover and update you on my new life (and top up my parly pay by penning a column). Eh? — Ed.
No more shall I be toiling at the chalkface, teaching in Queenswold Secondary, Corby; instead I’m representing the lovely but slightly weird people of the nearby constituency, Lark and Bendover. Such a mad, mad rush, I can tell you.
It all started when the head of Queenswold, Freddie Fitztitely, called me into his study, plonked me down on the Chesterfield and asked me if I’d ever thought of offering my services. (Not half, I thought). No. Stop it. What he meant was had I ever thought of standing for Parliament. Turns out he’s big in the local Labour Party and they were looking for a suitable (?) candidate.
Why not, luv, I thought. I’m as horny-handed as the next pleb and I could see me cheek by jowl in that crowded voting lobby or sliding around on those shiny green benches during an all-nighter with Big Ben looming over us.
So I said: I’m all yours if you want me, comrade. The selection meeting was a piece of piss actually. Some of the rough trade on the committee weren’t too sure they’d have me but I spieled something I’d read in the Guardian and, what with the chairman’s say-so, it was enough.
Campaigning was a nightmare, though. Non stop riffraff. But I endured and the next thing I knew I was hanging around outside Parliament after the election looking for St Stephen’s Entrance.
Even after all this time, though, I still don’t know my way around and haven’t got an office never mind a phone. I haven’t even managed to track down Alii’s, a pop-up shop somewhere in the bowels of Parliament with all sorts of designer gear, I’m told.
But I’m loving the drama of the place and I had a really good time at the Budget growling approvingly at everything Rachel said as we’d been told to do. (Isn’t she beautiful by the way?)
Not so sure about that Kemi, though. Too clever by half, as mummy used to warn. Steer well clear, says I. And our Foreign Secretary? You must have seen him: black guy, shithouse door proportions, like a bouncer outside the Cordwainer, the Wetherspoons in Northampton. ‘Liability Lammy’, they’re calling him, although I don’t know why: best watch this space.
What was that? Teddy? Oh, him. Now I’m in London we do occasionally come across each other, I admit. But I try to keep him at arm’s length (at least!) and there are plenty more fish in the sea (well on the shiny green benches, anyway!)
Must call for an adjournment now. Speak soon. Order! Order!
The Hon Oliver, MP
