Plotting and Some Other Assorted Reflections

For most of the day I’ve been trying to come up with a scheme that would allow me to escape here sooner, rather than later, and return later, rather than sooner. The dastardely scheme should also cost the bare minimum possible on train fares – the kind of price that makes people’s jaws drop in shock when you tell them just how cheap the train network can be.

But I’m not having much success. My all-knowing train friend tells me that they only release advance tickets at certain times, but I’m not so sure. Particularly with the high demand of the Christmas holiday, I can’t help but feel that if I can’t get the tickets now, I’ll never be able to get them. There are cheap options currently on the table, but they require me leaving, essentially, straight after work on Friday 15th December. And coming back on a Monday. These are no great losses, and they are “sacrifices” I am willing to make. I absolutely refuse to pay a fortune for our shitty transport network, and I’ll do anything to make it work in my favour.

So that took up most of my work day. Primarily because I had nothing else to do. I had to put up with a moaning MP on the end of a phone line all day, complaining about all the things he’d done over the weekend and how he desperately wanted a break. Of course, it’s all his fault because he can’t say no to things. All we do is set everything up based on what his wishes are. We can’t help it if he decides to deliberately miss flights and trains that we’ve already paid for, and sometimes even rearranged, at his expense, to make his plans work better. It’s absolutely crazy, and the amount of work that he actually does related to his constituency is shockingly low.

As a consequence of this, it is almost making me plot about something else as well. Namely that I am sorely tempted to complain to my course director and find me a different MP. However, I’m not even sure that that would work well… just because I’m quite sure that almost every MP is this stupid – so reliant on their offices that they couldn’t organise a piss up in a brewery. But they can organise a piss up in Stranger’s Bar though. This is the place MPs go to hide from the press at the end of a hard day (some MPs have harder days than others) – and the amount of alcohol downed often leads to some rather strange antics.

On the whole, they really are a bunch of buffoons, completely unable to control their own lives because they just can’t say no to anything. But they are not helped by the fact that there are endless hangers on in the media and pressure group world who won’t stop until they have some vague sort of commitment. It feels terrible when you have to tell endless worthy charities that we support them, but we don’t have any time to show that support. MPs can only really champion one charity. Some get lucky and get lots of champions. Others have none. And so they employ armies of people to try to get some attention. Yet the amount of briefing material that goes straight into the recycling is deeply shocking…

So today has been a day of reflection. Things are quite bad at the moment, and I’m sure they’ll come to a head in the next couple of days as I tell my MP exactly what I think of his shabby attempts to blame all and sundry for his terrible organisation skills and zero-knowledge of his own diary. But maybe things will improve once it’s out in the open.

If not, there’s always the option of a single back home, instead of a return. Or rather two singles, since two singles are cheaper than a return. God Bless Capitalism!

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