The secret diary of the Minister for Folding Deckchairs

Our private secretaries were waiting for us. Mine is a pleasant young woman called Jessica. I am also entitled to a car and a driver. Entirely pointless since the No159 and No3 buses run past my door.

Jessica explained the situation is complicated. Red boxes – lead-lined so that if the Minister is blown up, the Government’s papers will survive – cannot be carried on public transport. Second, there will be times when a vote is called without warning and we will need to get to the House quickly. Third, I might be glad of a lift home at 3am after an adjournment debate.

She also explained that the funding of the Government car pool is geared to encourage maximum use of the car. The drivers are on a low basic wage and dependent on overtime. Jessica said I will need a mobile phone, a pager and a fax at home. I offered mild resistance, but fear I shall have to give way. The first of what will no doubt be many little defeats at official hands.

While we were talking, in strolled JP. He made a little show of being pleased to see me.

‘Thank you for having me,’ I said. ‘Glad you decided to join us,’ he said drily. The sarcasm remained in the air long after he departed. Of course, he must know that I turned down the wretched job.

Outside, I ran into Labour MP Frank Field. He confirmed that the Government car service was a job creation scheme.

Life imitates art: