Anti-Social Behaviour All Over The Place.

In the morning, I represent The Boss at a public meeting to reassure constituents that the powers-that-be are tackling anti-social behaviour - as opposed to simply wringing their hands and despairing. Greg gets there before me and sends me a text:

'Molly, you're late. Meet me downstairs. I will be staring intently at the circus of freaks, losers, the mad, the bad and the weak who pay our wages.'

The meeting is ghastly. It's impossible to answer hostile questions realistically while being constrained by political correctness, let alone while also having to contend with Greg's increasingly demented texts. He just sits there with his mobile underneath the table, typing away furiously while wearing a wholly-angelic expression. I do wish he wouldn't do that.

I'm driven to my own version of anti-social behaviour when I have to sneak out for a cigarette, like the crowd of teenagers hanging around outside. I end up chatting to them - hug a hoodie, as Dave Blancmange Face would say! They aren't too happy about recent calls to ban smokers from outside pubs, and want to know why drunks aren't to be banned as well.

They've got a point, now I come to think of it. Smokers don't go around beating people up on their way home from a night's smoking, or vomit all over the pavements. So that's decided it - I'm definitely not giving up, just because a hypocritical Government containing people like The Boss told me to. (Especially when he's only just stopped smoking a pipe, anyway.)

Talking of The Boss, Greg swears he saw him on yesterday's TV footage of the SWP's raid on the BA Unite talks. Oh God - will Andrew never learn? He's just bored - and still in a mood because he's always fancied himself as a stalking horse candidate for the Party leadership, but isn't needed now that there are so many real candidates popping out of the woodwork.

Mind you, I may not have to put up with The Boss much longer if IPSA* don't get a grip and we all end up losing our jobs, thanks to the cuts in the Staffing Allowance. I just hope that Andrew decides that the girls at Westminster are dispensable, rather than Greg and I.

We're the ones who keep the constituents happy, after all. God knows why an MP doomed to sit forever on the back-benches needs a researcher in Parliament to write his speeches, however pretty she is. He has more than enough to say for himself without anyone else encouraging him.

Maybe he'll be a bit quieter in future, though. Carlotta says that a sign has been put up at the HOC* today, instructing MPs not to abuse IPSA's staff. Greg persuades her to email us a photo of it, and then scrawls, "or your own employees either," underneath.

When I lock up after work, I notice that he's pinned the adulterated notice in a prominent position above my desk. Very funny. I add, "says Greg" to the bottom of the page, just in case The Boss ever decides to read it. You can't be too careful when your job may be on the line.


*IPSA - Independent Parliamentary Standards Authority, set up in the wake of the expenses scandal, with the sole purpose of making unnecessary work for MPs, according to The Boss.
*HOC - as before: House of Commons.