Elections are about decisions. One has to weigh up all the pros and cons very carefully. Which is why I spent half the morning trying to choose between the Jimmy Choo patent leather kitten heels and the Valentino slingbacks. In the end I ditched both in favour of the Versace pumps, mainly because when you face a tough day at the coal face of photo ops comfort really counts.
Three hours on the phone last night. What a nuisance Ruth Davidson is becoming. That's the trouble with encouraging her sort, they haven't the good taste to know when friendliness becomes stalking. It's my own fault, of course. I should never have invited her to my little do at Crathes. The things one has to do for the Party. Unfortunately she now thinks we're best mates.
Lynton says it's no bad thing to be photographed next to someone with less dress sense than Worzel Gummidge. Easy for him, he doesn't have to put up with her endless TA anecdotes. And her pathetic desire to please it starting to get on my nerves. I've told him straight, if she says "Dinnae worry, Treeza, ah'll soart oot the Nats fur ye" one more time I may just lose my cool.
I've a horrid suspicion she's angling to get invited back to Checkers post election. No Thank You Very Much. Once was more than enough. Stomping up and down in her Doc Martins, leaving muddy boot prints all over the Chippendale furniture. And sitting up till all hours drinking brown ale and having farting competitions with the domestic staff. I've known dogs with better manners.
Everyone's been phoning to say what a triumph Philip and my appearance on the One Show was. I have to say I took some convincing, but Lynton assured me it would be relatively painless. "I've taken care of everything. Just remember to smile and relax and be yourself."
Easy for him to say. I haven't a minute to 'be myself' and when I do it rarely involves smiling. So he organised some 'smile coaching' from a toothy Australian called Barb. After a week of that my face is in agony and I shall probably never smile again. "No change there, then," quipped Philip.
Anyway the One Show malarkey was relatively painless, apart from the facial rictus, and after Philip's astonishing claim to five million viewers that he takes the bins out I can let the Polish girl go.
My post One Show glow didn't last long. Still feeling flush and emboldened I foolishly let my guard down and ventured out to where the public were at large only to be ambushed by a complete nobody, whining about her disability allowance being taken away and what was I going to do about it. I mean really. Don't these people think I have enough serious business to deal with without having to hear the mundane details of their dreary lives?
And she didn't look very disabled to me, although I was the soul of tact, managing to appear concerned despite the fact absolutely NOBODY was taking any notice of my Vivien Westwood jacket. I sometimes wonder why I bother.
Honestly if I never have to fight another election it'll be too soon. Lynton booked me onto a thing called 'Facebook', which is an internet thingy for youngsters and layabouts with nothing better to do than send each other pictures of their cats. Seeing I was less than enthusiastic about the idea he roped in his old mate Peston to field the questions, a handy way to filter out the dross and awkward bits, or so he claimed.
"Just remember the magic words" he said, for the umpteenth time. Then he got that headmaster look in his eye. "What are the magic words?"
"Strong and Stable, Sir" I said.
"Good. Don't forget to get them into every answer. If you dry up Bob's been prepped to give you a cue. OK?"
So it all sounded straightforward, and started out plain sailing. Just as I was starting to get bored up pops Comrade Corbyn with one of his cheeky 'when are you going to start doing something for poor people instead of your rich city mates' questions. You'd have thought they would have kept the riffraff out for the main attraction but apparently anyone can go on this Bookface thingy. Sometimes I really do pine for my quiet life at the Home Office.