Not All Conspiracy Theorists Are Delusional, And Another Enigmatic Reply From Dad

It must be national non-constituent day. God knows how many Labour supporters from nearby areas phone this morning, all arguing that they have to be allowed to see The Boss, as their own MPs are either Tories or LibDems.

It doesn't matter how often you explain that this is irrelevant, and that MPs have a duty to act on behalf of all their constituents, regardless of their political persuasion - it never convinces anyone. I do wish all the new MPs would send out a round robin, informing their constituents that they're welcome no matter how they voted. I've already got more than enough to do.

I suppose it's a good thing that Andrew's not the one answering the phone, though. He's uncontrollable in the face of flattery from other MPs' constituents, as Igor's persistent presence demonstrates only too clearly.

If Andrew had his way, he'd be the only MP in the UK - though I bet he'd still appoint the extra staff that this would require on the basis of leg length alone. Vicky's a perfect example, unless I'm missing whatever it is that she is good at. Probably conspiracy, if the whereabouts of Mr Sampson's file are anything to go by.

Greg and I are knackered, and we still haven't found the damned thing, so there's another long night ahead. I just wish I could think of somewhere else to look.

We've checked every cupboard; every drawer, and emptied all the filing cabinets and the archive. At least twice. Now Greg wants to search Vicky's briefcase, but she seems to be taking it everywhere with her at the moment, even to the loo.

At least Dad's no longer missing. Well, he's obviously missing a number of brain cells, but I'm used to that. Dinah phones at lunchtime, and starts going on about all the terrorism reports.

"Dad's such an idiot that, if a pretty girl asked him to carry a printer onto a plane, he would," she says.

"Well, he must be in Thailand by now," I say. "Or we'd have heard about it. And anyway, I can't email him because he hasn't worked out how to access NTL anywhere other than from his house yet."

"Didn't  you say he set up a hotmail account when he went last time?" says Dinah. "Use that."

Honestly, Dinah's so bossy. Why do I have to do everything? Though I suppose I can keep it brief.

I send Dad an email saying,

"Are you okay?"

He responds quickly, I'll give him that - but I'm not sure it's worth it. His reply just says,

"Wet."

I really, really hope this isn't another case of the double-entendres.