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Gilbert Murray MP's Westminster Blog
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I'm back! I'm extremely proud to have once more been elected Member of Parliament for Gypping in the Marsh. A big thank-you to everyone in the constituency who put their faith in me and put an 'X' in the box against my name. Let me tell you, you've made the right decision.
My election agent, Winton, has suggested that I put pen to paper - or fingers to keyboard, these being modern times - and write a regular 'blog' about my time as your MP. And who am I to argue? The man has his finger much closer to the pulse than I do when it comes to modern technology, and he tells me that the internet is the way to reach people nowadays. It certainly saves me from having to talk to you lot in person.
Having said that, I draw the line at social media. You won't find Gilbert Murray MP showing off his kitchens on Instagram or doing the conga on TikTak, no sir.
Anyway, here we are. Blog number one.
I have to say, it came as something of a surprise to have been voted in again after all these years. As many of you will know, I used to represent Gypping in the Marsh as a Conservative and Unionist Party MP back in the 1990s and early 2000s, but a series of rather unfortunate misunderstandings meant that I was forced to resign the whip, and I subsequently lost the seat to that young Tory whippersnapper Boothby-Smythe who (in my humble opinion) stole the seat from right under my nose.
Anyway, there I was, tending my cabbages and thinking that my political days were all behind me, until that Trice chap got in touch and asked whether I'd be interested in throwing my hat into the ring for Deform UK. I took a fair bit of persuading - I don't mind admitting that I thought the Deform gang were a bit of a malodorous bunch at first, with some very pungent views about human rights, boats and such like. But they won me round in the end by persuading me that with their backing, I could revenge myself on that Tory backstabber Boothby-Smythe. The end justifies the means, I told myself, so with a metaphorical clothes peg attached firmly to my nose, I hitched myself up to the Deform bandwagon and the rest, as they say, is history!
So well done, Gypping in the Marsh, for kicking that stinking, seat-stealing Tory bounder into the gutter, and for putting me back where I belong... and with a much larger majority than Boothby-Smythe ever managed to get, I'd like to point out. Ha!
Still, I have decided that I shall be entirely magnanimous in my victory. To the victor the spoils and all that, but there will be no crowing from me over the losers. Although losers they most certainly are. Especially you, Boothby-Smythe.
Anyway, lots to do, I'm sure you can imagine. But I will be back here with regular updates, so keep your eyes peeled.
Gilbert Murray MP
"Gilbert Murray MP"! Take that and shove it where the sun doesn't shine, Boothby-Smythe!
Well, it's been a memorable weekend, that's for sure. I have to admit, I'm still on something of a high after my stunning victory over the Tories on Friday!
I took a rather tricky call from Fromage early on Friday. He'd called to congratulate me - fair enough - but then he started pressuring me to head straight down to London to take part in a hastily-arranged press conference with the other new Deform UK MPs. I turned him down flat, explaining that I had commitments in the constituency that evening - my victory celebrations. Well, I couldn't let my supporters down, could I? Anyway, it takes a hell of a time to get to London from Gypping in the Marsh: the transport links are dreadful.
Fromage was none too pleased, but I stood my ground. And looking at the coverage of his press conference over the weekend, I'm damned glad I did: I wouldn't have wanted to have been sitting there with Fromage, Trice, that bruiser Anderton and the other non-entities who'd scraped a seat, having to paste a smile onto my face while the crowd shouted abuse and called us all a bunch of racists. Doesn't sound like my kind of thing at all. Nobody could ever call me a racist; I have always prided myself on looking down on everyone equally, regardless of the colour of their skin or the size of their boat. I'm going to have to watch myself with that bunch.
Anyway, with that little bit of unpleasantness out of the way and with Fromage's calls blocked, it was a huge pleasure to hold my victory celebrations in the Cock and Bull on Friday night. It was wonderful to see so many of my loyal supporters there, raising a glass or ten to toast my victory.
There was a great atmosphere in the place. I don't know who it was that brought along that photo of Boothby-Smythe and stuck it to the dartboard, but what an excellent idea: it really added to the evening's entertainment! Everybody wanted a go, and soon the darts were really flying.
On the subject of darts flying, I'd like to send my sincerest apologies and best wishes to Mrs Beecham. My aim does suffer somewhat after a few drinks. It's perhaps worth remembering in the future that it doesn't pay to stand too close to a dartboard. Still, I hear that the eye specialists at Pilgrim Hospital are unmatched. Just as Mrs Beecham's left eye will be from now on, by the look of things.
Things did take a rather unexpected turn when a coachload of Fromage loyalists turned up at about 10:30. Apparently they were on their way back to Clacton, having been in Lincolnshire to celebrate Trice's win there. On the whole, they were a very jolly bunch, but it has to be said that the atmosphere of the evening changed somewhat after their arrival, and some of my local supporters started to make their excuses and leave.
Still, with the new arrivals' full-throated approval, celebrations continued on well into the early hours - with a touch more exuberance and boisterousness than earlier - and I can't quite remember what time it was when I finally staggered out into the street and made my weary way home.
Thank you again to everyone who turned up to toast my victory. I think I can safely say that everyone had a marvellous time, with the possible exception of Mrs Beecham, of course... and the landlord of the Cock and Bull. He sent me a picture of the lounge bar that he'd taken on Saturday morning, in the aftermath of the festivities.
I have to say, I don't remember things looking quite so bad when I took my leave in the early hours, but I would be the first to admit that I wasn't exactly at my best. Given that the damage seems largely to have been caused by those Fromage loyalists, I've told the landlord to send the bill to him. It's a small price for him to pay after I managed to win this seat for his party with such a crushing majority.
Anyway, now that the festivities are over, it's time to turn to the serious business of being an MP. I will keep you updated on my progress.
Gilbert Murray MP
Tuesday was a big day: my first day back in the Houses of Parliament as an elected MP! I had to travel down to London to get myself sworn in at the House of Commons and to take part in some photo opportunities that Fromage had organised. As I think I've mentioned before, the transport links between Gypping in the Marsh and London are diabolical, and although I felt sure I'd given myself enough time to catch the early morning train to London, thanks to a surprising number of tractors on the road in the early hours and a monumental hangover, it turned out that I hadn't. I was a tad late arriving in London, so I failed to meet up with the other Deform UK MPs as planned. Fromage had wanted us all to make our triumphant entry into the Houses of Parliament together, but in the end they did it without me.
I was a bit miffed that they couldn't be bothered to wait for me: I wasn't all that late. However, if truth be told, I'm not entirely sorry that I missed out on the photo opportunities that Fromage had set up. He had himself, Trice, 'Bruiser' Anderton and the other two posing all over the place, with the aim of making them look purposeful and determined. But it has to be said, without me to provide a good solid foundation of poise, character and gravitas, it didn't really work. I think Fromage was going for a 'Reservoir Dogs' look, but if I'm being honest - and I'm never anything but honest - I think the look he achieved was more 'Reservoir Dicks'.
Anyway, a couple of stiff drinks on the train into London had put paid to my hangover, and as I strode out of Westminster tube station, feeling like a new man, I was surprised and delighted to find a contingent from Gypping in the Marsh there to cheer me on! One of the local farmers had driven a tractor all the way to London and there he was, parked up right under Big Ben, with a load of the largest Gypping cabbages I've ever seen on the trailer behind him.
Unbeknownst to me, a busload of well-wishers from Gypping in the Marsh had also travelled down to London, and they cheered me lustily while proudly waving their enormous brassicas, much to the bemusement of the passers-by.
Unfortunately, the Houses of Parliament security team were not quite as pleased to see them as I was. As I walked into the House of Commons, I looked back over my shoulder to see a bit of a ruckus developing as the security team tried to arrest my supporters and seize their cabbages. I was hauled up in front of the Head of Security, who seemed to think I was behind the chaos that was developing outside. I assured him that I had nothing to do with it, but I'm not sure the man believed me. Turns out you need a permit to bring tractors and over-sized vegetables within a hundred feet of Parliament, or something like that - who knew? - and they were seen as a security risk. Anyway, by the sound of it, my supporters didn't give up their brassicas lightly. Good for them!
Fromage was none too pleased when I finally caught up with him inside. He'd been told about the cabbage-related disturbance, and he had the temerity to accuse me of setting it all up in a bid to upstage him on his big day! I put him right in no uncertain terms, and after giving him a piece of my mind, I made my way to the Strangers' Bar to calm myself down with the help of a double whisky or two... which quickly turned into a double whisky or six. Thanks to that, I ended up missing Fromage's maiden speech in the Commons chamber. I didn't miss much by all accounts, but that's another black mark against me in the little man's little book.
Talking of books, the fun and games didn't end there for me. When it comes to swearing yourself in as a new MP, you can choose to 'swear' - using the holy book of your choice - or 'affirm', the latter being the modern choice for the godless heathens amongst us. As you would expect, I chose to swear my allegiance to King Charles rather than to affirm - no godless heathen, me! - and when I was asked which holy book I wanted to swear upon, I naturally chose the Book of Noel.
You can imagine my shock when it turned out that there wasn't a Book of Noel available for me to swear upon! They had every other holy book imaginable - even a copy of the Hamlyn Illustrated Children's Bible (I was told they'd got that on the assumption that Ian Paisley Jnr was going to regain his seat) - but no Book of Noel! I was not best pleased. Possibly somewhat over-emboldened by the House of Commons whisky sloshing around in my stomach, I demanded that they locate a Book of Noel that instant, or I wouldn't be pledging my allegiance to anyone.
The Speaker quickly intervened, and I grudgingly agreed to affirm my allegiance instead, provided that the House of Commons procure itself a Book of Noel pronto. I can't say that it felt right and proper to be affirming my allegiance rather than swearing on the Book of Noel, but needs must. I am sure that the Great Prophet Noel would understand. Anyway, a double brandy or three in the Strangers' Bar afterwards helped to put me back on an even keel.
After all the day's shenanigans, it was a relief to get on a late train and head back to Gypping in the Marsh. It was even more of a relief to find that the train had a well-stocked bar. But the biggest relief of all was when I finally made it home, having driven the last 15 miles from the station back to Gypping in the Marsh in the dark. I'll tell you what, I passed some bloody awful drivers on the way home. A couple of them only just missed crashing into me as I sped home, and one of them actually ended up swerving off the road in front of me and driving into a dyke! People like that shouldn't be allowed on the road.
After all that excitement in Westminster, I'm planning to spend next week working in the constituency, starting to get to grips with some pressing local issues. More to follow next week.
Gilbert Murray MP
After all the ups and downs of my return to Westminster, it was a relief to get back to Gypping in the Marsh and to throw myself fully into my constituency work.
When I agreed to stand for Parliament again, I decided that I wasn't going to be one of those MPs who spent all their time swanning around Westminster, hob-nobbing with the elite and brown-nosing those in power in attempt to gain personal betterment, while barely stepping foot in their constituency except when they want your vote at election time. I'm not thinking of anyone in particular as I write those words. But I hope you're reading this, Boothby-Smythe.
No; in my election leaflets, I promised to be a good constituency MP. I promised that I would be there for all my constituents, regardless of their political views. I promised to stand up for the rights of the good people of Gypping in the Marsh, and champion their needs and desires to the very best of my abilities. Those, good people of Gypping in the Marsh, were my promises to you, and they are promises that I intend to keep.
The morning after my swearing in as an MP, I was rudely awoken at about noon by a loud hammering on the front door. Dragging myself off the sofa, I straightened my tie, shuffled blearily down the hallway and opened the door to find the postman standing there, not with a few letters or parcels as I might have expected, but with four - four! - large boxes, completely stuffed with mail. It was all for me. The good man helped me carry them inside and we dumped them in the study, for later perusal.
One quick shower and two invigorating tipples later, I delved into the boxes and started opening the letters. Many were letters of congratulation, but a good many more were letters from constituents who wanted my help with one thing or another. Good Noel, I'd only officially been an MP for a day, and already I was overloaded with requests for help. Some of you people don't hang about. I have to admit that I'd completely forgotten just how many people want a piece of you when you're an MP.
It wasn't long before my desk was overflowing with all sorts of letters, and I hadn't even got through half of the first box. I don't mind telling you that I started to feel rather overwhelmed with it all. I simply didn't know how on earth I was going to deal with this much correspondence.
Sitting back for a moment with a stiff drink, I pondered my problem. And then, as I remembered a piece of advice my dear old father gave me, many years ago, inspiration struck.
"Gilbert, my boy," he said to me, "always surround yourself with lucky people, then their luck will rub off on you."
Damn good advice, that. It's always stood me in good stead. I realised that what I needed to do to make this Herculean task a tad more manageable was to sort out the lucky people's correspondence from the unlucky people's, and deal only with the lucky ones. Why would I want to bother myself with the problems of a load of unlucky people? If I sorted out one issue for them, no doubt another problem would crop up for them soon afterwards, and then another, and so on, ad infinitum. That's how it is with unlucky people. Frankly, I'd just be wasting my time trying to help them.
Thankfully, sorting out the lucky people's letters from the unlucky ones was easy. I simply carried the three unopened boxes of mail out into the back garden and emptied their contents straight into the recycling bins. Those letters obviously came from the unlucky people. I then added a couple of handfuls of letters from the box I'd already opened to the recycling. Those too came from demonstrably unlucky people. The letters that remained - still rather a lot, but a number I felt I could deal with - were those from my lucky constituents, and I congratulated myself on having found a way to deal with a seemingly impossible task.
The following day, when the postman arrived with a similarly large amount of mail, I realised that I needed to get myself a personal assistant. I was fortunate enough to have the most wonderful PA when I was last an MP - a fragrant, lithe and biddable young woman called Janet Alia - someone I could trust implicitly and who was more than happy to act as my right hand in more ways than one. I know for a fact that quite a few other MPs at the time were jealous of my magnificent Janet Alia.
How I wished I could reinstate her. But when I was ousted from Parliament back in the early 2000s, Miss Alia decided upon a complete change of career. She took a degree in medicine at the University of Cleethorpes, specialising in the genito-urinary side of things, and is now doing very well for herself as head of the GUM clinic at the local hospital.
I'm pleased to be able to say that it was working for me that provided Miss Alia with the inspiration to move into this new career: she first developed her interest in genito-urinary medicine during her time as my PA. Those were interesting times: some things were so much freer and easier in those days than they are now. What with one thing and another, she was able to build up a pretty detailed knowledge - one might even say a hands-on knowledge - of the subject in her time with me.
Anyway, with Janet Alia sadly out of the running, I'm going to have to find someone new. Miss Alia's shoes will be tough ones to fill, but I have started to put feelers out around the village to try and find a suitable individual. If anyone is interested in finding out more about the position, do let me know. Only not by post, please.
Before I go, it's worth mentioning that I'm starting to hold constituency surgeries this week. I'll be holding them between 7pm and 9pm every other Friday, in the snug at the Cock and Bull. Take a look at the sign on the village notice board for more information.
I'm hoping that these surgeries will give me a chance to get to know you all better, while mixing business with pleasure - something I have always advocated - and the landlord will be glad of the extra custom this will bring in. So, if you have any issues you want to bring to my attention, do feel free to drop by and speak to me in person. Much better than writing a letter which may well get pushed to the bottom of the pile. That's if it gets read at all.
It's worth pointing out that if you have any particularly complex or difficult problems, it's probably best if you try to catch me towards the beginning of a session rather than at the end. You'll be more likely to get the best out of me that way.
Hopefully I will see you in the Cock and Bull at some point. Oh, and please ease off on the letters. At least until I've found myself a PA.
Gilbert Murray MP
It was back to Westminster for me last week, for the state opening of Parliament. It wasn't my first state opening, obviously, what with me being a bit of a Westminster veteran, but I thought I'd better show my face briefly and fly the flag for Gypping in the Marsh.
The journey down to London that day was predictably awful, with the lateness of the train only partially made up for by the quality of the onboard drinks offering. I haven't got much to say about the ceremony itself. I'm sure you'll all have seen it on television. Lots of waiting around, some gold-plated flummery and a bit of bowing and scraping just about sums it up for me. Followed, of course, by one tedious speech after another in the Commons, which I didn't stick around for. The Strangers' Bar was open for one thing, and experience has taught me that a lot more business gets done in the bars of Westminster than in the House of Commons.
Just in case any of you missed seeing it on TV, I took a few snaps of the pageantry. I think I've managed to capture the pomp and circumstance of the occasion quite nicely. Nobody does that kind of thing better than us Brits, that's what I say!
As soon as the speeches started, I snuck out of the chamber, hot on the heels of Fromage, who was high-tailing it off to the US to brown-nose Trump at the Republican convention. A couple of constituents had pointed out to me that Fromage has excluded me almost entirely from his Deform UK social media posts, so I felt the need to build some bridges between the two of us. Yes, I want to keep a bit of a distance between myself and the goons at Deform UK HQ, but I don't want them to ignore me entirely.
Anyway, I managed to catch a brief word with the man before he scurried off to Heathrow. I asked him if he fancied coming along to the Gypping in the Marsh Clown Festival on the 3rd of August - I'm sure I can get the organisers to make him a guest judge, or something - and he accepted. I think he'll be right in his element there, and it'll give the two of us a chance to spend a bit of quality time together and mend our somewhat fractured relationship.
I held my first constituency surgery last Friday night at the Cock and Bull. It was a great success - I had a good number of constituents come to see me, and we managed to get through a hell of a lot of constituency business in the time available. In fact, there was so much to discuss that the surgery overran rather a lot. I can't honestly say that I can remember the finer details of quite everything we discussed - my recollection of the night is somewhat hazy - but my constituents seemed to be happy enough when we reeled out of the pub arm-in-arm at close of play, having put the world to rights. Do feel free to come along to the next surgery if there's anything you need a bit of help with, or if you just want a chinwag over a drink or three.
The landlord of the Cock and Bull was certainly happy with how the evening had gone: he said the surgery had boosted his takings so much that if things carried on like this, he'd soon be able to pay for the damage caused by those Fromage-supporting louts at my victory celebration the other week. Fromage, apparently, has refused to open his wallet and pay up.
Oh, one more bit of news: I will be interviewing people for the post of PA next week. Up until now, only one person has expressed an interest - a Mr Beaker, the current butler up at Hemlock Hall - so if you are interested in the job, now is the time to step forward and make yourself known.
Gilbert Murray MP
Read more about the goings-on in Gypping in the Marsh in 'The Member of Parliament', in which Gilbert Murray, Member of Parliament for Gypping in the Marsh and master of the double-entendre, responds to an urgent business proposal in order to pay off a journalist who is blackmailing him. If only Gilbert could keep his trousers buttoned up, he wouldn't get into situations like this...
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