Friday, 17 June 2011

A Rather Less Than Poetic, But Nevertheless Indisputable Display of Synchronicity.

God, being in love makes people annoying, doesn't it? Greg is really getting on my nerves.

"Jess says she can come away with me next week," he says. "She's managed to get the time off work - isn't that a stroke of luck?"

"I thought she was a poet," I say. "So I didn't think time off would be a problem."

"Yes, but don't forget she has massage clients too," says Greg.

I had forgotten that. No wonder he likes Jess so much.

Now he's got a very far-away look in his eye, so I decide to go and have a cigarette. There's only so much I can take of other people's sex-lives, without the need for nicotine.

I smoke as slowly as I can, and then stop off in the Labour Party office to chat to Joan, but Greg's still thinking about Jess by the time that I get back.

"It was synchronicity," he says. "Me meeting Jess, you know."

"Humph," I say.

No-one wants to be reminded of Sting when they're trying to avoid the thought of other people's sex lives.

"Don't you believe in synchronicity?" says Greg.

"No," I say - which proves to be a big mistake, but not one that becomes obvious immediately.

Things are unusually quiet for the rest of the morning, mainly because The Boss is still in London for this week's Friday sitting of the House. He doesn't get back here until just before the start of surgery - which quickly becomes quite demanding, despite the fact that all the usual suspects seem to be away on holiday.

I don't recognise any of the people who've booked appointments - for a change - but most of them want to talk about the Government's NHS and welfare reforms. At length, as you can imagine.

The Boss looks quite relieved when Miss Ventnor decides to buck the trend: she's got a thing about light pollution.

"City dwellers are being deprived of the pleasure to be had from seeing the stars," she says. To The Boss - she doesn't seem to have noticed me. Maybe she only sees properly in the dark.

"I agree," says Andrew. "It's a terrible shame. There's nothing like a starry sky."

He's looking pretty starry-eyed himself. Miss V isn't what you'd describe as unattractive.

She's also quite poetic, especially on the subject of wildlife and what birds and animals suffer as  result of becoming confused between day and night. Andrew's nodding his head so much in agreement that I'm sure I can hear his vertebrae cracking.

The mutual love-in takes so long that, by the time The Boss has agreed to join the campaign against light pollution and I have shown Miss Ventnor out - and ushered in Mrs Jackson to take her place - we're running even later than usual.

The Boss doesn't seem worried, though. Mrs J's even more attractive than her predecessor.

"I'm sure you didn't agree with Ken Clarke about sentencing, or degrees of rape, did you, Mr Sinclair?" she says.

"No, indeed I didn't," says Andrew, right on cue.

"Well, then," says Mrs J. "What are you going to do to protect the women of Northwick - and to stop the Council's plans to turn some of the street-lights off?"

"If you'll just excuse me," I say. "I have an urgent call to make. You'll be able to manage this without me, won't you, Andrew?"

I don't wait for an answer, as I pick up my notes and beat a retreat.

Andrew's still not talking to me by the time we leave the office this evening, but I don't care. Sometimes it's healthy for MPs to decide where they stand on issues all by themselves.

"That was a bit cruel of you, Mol," says Max, when I tell him about it. "You know Andrew always gets himself in a muddle with this sort of thing."

I'm about to defend myself, when there's an almighty crack from overhead, and the kitchen light goes out.

"Good God," I say. "What the hell was that?"

"The bloody lightbulb exploded again," says Max. "That's the third one that's done it in the last few weeks."

I start sweeping the glass up off the floor, but Max has just finished putting the food onto our plates, so he tells me to leave the mess until after we've eaten.

"Took me ages to cook this," he says, "so I don't want it to get cold. Eating's the priority, not clearing up."

I agree with him, until I take my first mouthful, and bite down on a shard of glass.

I may need to re-think my position on synchronicity. And on lighting.

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