Seasoned in sleaze, number 29

Sunday

Today I have to brave an ordeal, not entirely the sole preserve of serving politicians… Sunday lunch at my in-laws’.

The meal itself is punctuated by my mother-in-law’s none-too-subtle hints about: “Doing something about getting a baby brother/sister as company for your firstborn Annabelle.” I avoided this one – not entirely successfully.

The post lunch period is spent in the company of a morose father-in-law who asks me what I think about the current divorce debate. I soft-pedal and flannel that I haven’t really given it much thought.

He snorts: “I have, and believe me if divorce had been available in the 1970s, we wouldn’t behaving this conversation today and I’d still be a free man.” You too!

Monday

The opposition spokesman for Rocking the Boat has tabled aParliamentary Question targeted specifically at me and my parliamentary secretariat. He asks: “Would the parliamentary secretary please enlighten the house as to what possible use he is as both a Parliamentary Secretary and a Member of Parliament?”

I refuse to be intimidated by this sort of 1970s rough-house tactic and reply diplomatically: “Bugger off! You four-eyed piece of rat poo!”

Let them giggle; they obviously haven’t realised that in fact it is I who have had the last laugh… erm.

Tuesday

Leave my ministry early, pick up Angelika plus a bouquet, then on to the Hereafter Retirement Home. Today my nanna – a resident there – is celebrating her 95th birthday.

Sadly, these days nanna is, well, not exactly focused. She hasn’t a clue who we are and, pointing at me, she asks Angelika: “Who is this man? Is he bothering you? I’ll get my maid to eject him.” Then she shouts for her maid Maria, who died in 1978. Hearing the noise the assistant matron arrives, tells me I’m distressing the old lady and would I please leave.

I’m going, but note this. If she attempts to alter her will… I’ll drag the old bat through every court in Europe.

Wednesday

My minister summons me to his presence to discuss what he terms a major policy decision. Apparently a memo from the OPM has heavily criticised our recent policy statements and press releases.

It states: ‘Of late, your policy missives have laid themselves open to inaccurate interpretation, or worse – accurate interpretation.’ My minister is furious and says that from now on he is going to take personal charge of this matter, by removing this task from our parliamentary assistant and giving it to me. Oh right, thanks a lot!

Thursday

My driver Tony retires today. So it’s drinks at the ministry and a retirement gift of a large – and to my eyes – incredibly hideous wall clock, which my minister presents Tony with, after the inevitable speech. Tony is being replaced, albeit on a temporary basis, by his nephew Wistin. During the drinks doTony tells me: “Don’t worry, Onorevoli, it’s only ‘til my son Clinton takes over next May… if he manages to get time off for good behaviour.”

Friday

This evening, I inaugurate a brand new playground in my village. After an interminable (23-minute) speech from the mayor, I speak for just 44 minutes. However, I am less than delighted to note that when I sit down, after unveiling the marble plaque recording the inauguration, the applause is somewhat muted.

I am even less delighted to notice, after the unveiling, that two thirds of the dignitaries in the audience – including all the local councillors – are riding on the swings. This is deeply discourteous.

Saturday

Chaos in my village – amid which the mayor resigns in disgrace. After my speech on the previous evening eulogising the localcouncil – especially the mayor – for their initiative in constructing the playground, it turns out that the company that did all the work is owned by… you guessed it… none other than the mayor.

I now wonder how difficultit’s going to be to get myname removed from thecommemorative plaque.