Nine years of grinning

MONDAY

Boring, boring day, like. The usual conference nonsense. Being photographed blindfolded flipping a pancake to illustrate the problems of devolved local government. Doing the rounds of the stands, and having to restrain myself because I KNOW everyone is doing bunny ears behind me head. It'll be a relief to let me facial muscles relax, after nine bleedin' years of grinning.

Hoping for a snooze during Prudence McBoring's speech, but lots of hacks around, so have to feign interest, like. Then he gets to the bit about how much he looooved working with our Tone.

It just slipped out: “That's a lie!'' Hacks crowd in, asking me to repeat it. Oh God. “Er, I mean, that's so nice!'' I said. Scowls all round. “Er, I mean, I've got something in me eye,'' I blurt. Sh**, that sounds even worse! “Er, I mean Galatasaray!'' I say. “That's me favourite Turkish football team, like.'' No use.

Hacks scuttle off to file bitchy reports about the witch undermining poor old Gordo, boohoohoo.

Dinner hosted by Keith Vaz that night at some Chinese restaurant where they bring out a cake for me birthday (like, completely forgotten by our Tone!). After dinner, just time to read briefs, answer e-mails, check on the kids, and soak for 20 minutes in a Miliband and Blears bath infusion Carole gave me. Fall asleep to Tone practising his speech: “You're pulling my legacy … no, that doesn't work …''

TUESDAY

Papers full of me “heckling'' poor old Gordo, boohoohoo. Never mind, like. Gives our Tone a clear run. Got all the kids together for Dad's Big Speech (had to confiscate our Euan's hip-flask). Did the whole bit — grin, moist, glowing eyes, squeeze of kids' shoulders, grin, grin — but mind wandered when he joked about me running off with the bloke next door, ha bleedin' ha.

Suddenly realised I was muttering “get on with it, like'' and the kids were looking at me strange. “Er, your dad's got on with the business of making Labour electable, and left the party in great shape and history will record that he was … um … a hit, like.'' I said. Kids don't look convinced. Sh*te!

WEDNESDAY

So it's done, like. Now we can get down to some real work — getting me elected as Prime Minister! Sorry, Gordon, THAT was always the “deal'', like, hahahaha. Listening to old Wandering Hands Clinton blathering on onstage, start to imagine the summits me and Hillary will have, and I suddenly realise that I've just screamed the words “SUPREME POWER SHALL BE MINE, LIKE!''

All heads turn my way. Even Wandering Hands's. Oops. Switch on the grin. “Er, I mean … like …'' I start to say …