Promotion

The other Mr Angus, who sits in the other Parliament - oh, why does this all have to be so confusing - has phoned to tell me that I am to be promoted to trainee apprentice junior Minister for inter-galactic activities, space Gaelic and inter-planetary activities. This will entitle me to sit outside the meetings of important people and possibly be allowed to carry their bags to and from the important meetings.

Apparently, the other Mr Angus is going to announce that RAF Lossiemouth, which is in his Constituency is to be designated the new worldwide space launch pad for virgins and that the first flights will take place next year, unless the evil Mr Brown once again lets loose the hordes of pestilence infected Labour MPs to plunder the Scottish Government safes and steal all our money. In which case the scheme will be funded by Laird Trump of Tong building a universe-class golf course on the moon, for which planning permission has already been granted, but only after he applies, not withstanding the objections of SNH, the RSPB and China. He has already promised that (Harris Golf Club) Open will be staged there in 2010, or after he finishes building the 14,000 houses, executive villas, and tax-avoiding penthouses; subject only to the Bank of Scotland, Stornoway, advancing an interest-free 250% mortgage on the deemed notional value of the finished development before he starts.

Anyway, the other Mr Angus tells me that as I am the most obvious person to meet the criteria for launching virgins, I am to be ready for the full announcement next week and I must be ready to rename all the seas on the moon, all the atmospheric conditions and all the asteroids in Gaelic, and I am to do nothing but vote as instructed until the full announcement is made.

I am so proud to be on the very first flight of the very first spacecraft to funded using the Scottish Futures Trust, and no-one should pay any attention to the fact that the dog and the chimpanzee both withdrew from the project due to concerns about safety.

I cannot tell anyone what is happening, but I will make sure that my legacy lives on by defining authoritatively all 37,369 known asteroids in Gaelic! This will keep me quiet and busy for some time, but such is the price of achievement! I put on my Thunderbirds slippers to celebrate.

Steps up the political ladder: 1 (soon, soon!)
Asteroids named an diugh: 2
Constituents seen: None (I'm too busy)

No fairies in this house!

I have just finished putting up the Christmas tree, and just in time as I was given the present from Mr Alex as I tried to leave Edinburgh with explicit instructions that it was to go on the tree immediately.

Inside the present is a Santa, with the face of Mr Alex, along with a Christmas card that I have to send back to Mr Alex. The Santa is wonderful, with a swivelling head, eyes that seem to look at you constantly, but it could do with much more padding around the waist if it is to look realistic.

I place the Santa on the top of the tree, as there are no fairies in this house, and I would swear that the eyes follow me about. I have opened the card and there is a tab to show exactly where I am to sign. The wonderful Christmas festive message is clear....

Merry Christmas
I hereby authorise you to read my emails, listen to my telephone calls,
open my post, read my private files, bug my home, office and car
And a Happy New Year
and take such other steps as are necessary to ensure that I
do exactly as I am told
Ane Folk, Ane Scotia, Ane Alex

Sign here

As I sign the card and put a stamp on it, the Santa seems to let out a laugh, but nothing for me to worry about! I tramp along the road to see Gordon Diesel to post the letter and buy a variety pack of Kellogg's single serving breakfast cereals. For me, there is nothing more exciting than putting my hand in the cupboard in the morning and not knowing if I will have Coco Pops or Ricicles for breakfast. They are in stock; which is just as well, or Mr Angus and I would have to speak to the Minister and dmeand that somone else arrange a Summit to discuss the matter!

And so to bed, with a small glass of ribena and a good book - the Horrid Henry Omnibus. Note to self, must complain about this not being available in Gaelic.

Constituents spoken to: 1 (Gordon Diesel, but he doesn't really count)
Christmas cards written: 7 (Mr Alex, Ms Nicola, Mr John, Mr Angus, Mr Jim, Mr Bruce and special Alex)
Expenses claims submitted: £7,645.34 for the last quarter

Postmen

I am away from work for almost six weeks, so I had to come to Lewis for at least some of the time.

When I get to the office, Kenny has his head down avoiding my gaze, which told me with my innate political sense, gained from years of doing exactly what Mr Alex told me to do, that something was wrong.

Rhona pulled me aside and told me that I had a full diary for the next few weeks, as it was important that the electorate was able to recognise me when I stand for reselection by the Branch. "Some of the members don't think you spend enough time doing enough for the Constituency, and want you to be seen to do things that help the voters", she said, handing me a list of appointments I have to keep.

I sat down beside Kenny, both of us facing the wall which allows us to pass notes and whisper without Rhona knowing.

"Don't listen to her", said Kenny, taking a bite from his salt mutton panini on rye, with mayo, and moving his slice of cormorant and potato tart slightly to the left as it was starting to permanently stain the desk, "The Branch are much less happy than she lets on, and she won't forget your failure over the Marybank factory. Fancy a fag?"

As we sat in the car he outlined today's appointments, uncreasing the list by lightly pressing it between a chinese takeaway tin and his collie, "Your first mission, should you choose to accept it," he said expectorating gently into the back seat to the Mission Impossible theme, "Is to bring joy and glad to the postmen of the island."

It was with great anticipation that I went to the sorting office - would I see Padraig Post there? Would Jess be in his van? Is Mrs Goggins really that helpful? I know they speak Gaelic as I have often seen them on BBC2 early in the morning as I am sitting waiting for my daily instructions from Mr Alex.

I am taken around by Padraig's assistant, a very helpful Mr MacArthur, who I know very well having met him for the first time today, who kept telling me that Padraig and Jess would be back any moment. Sadly Mrs Goggins was having a day off, but the postmen encouraged me to write her a note which they promised would have pride of place in her office, when she returned.

Padraig and Jess never did appear, as it turned out he was on the St Kilda run, and after six hours of walking around the mail room I drove home to watch another documentary about their busy lives, and dream of what could have been.

I put on my glow in the dark Scooby Doo pyjamas, checked for instructions from Mr Alex, and went to bed looking forward to another productive and exciting day tomorrow.

Constituents met: 14 postmen, but not Padraig
Press releases issued: 1
Blessings of Mr Alex bestowed upon the public: 1