How disappointing

[therealpm]

I did hope that my comments at last week's dinner might have encouraged our frontbench to be slightly better at dissecting Osborne's populist shambles of a budget (endured in the midst of some very dubious company). It is therefore somewhat disappointing to note that the Tories were savaged more effectively by their own leadership than by ours, a situation likely to become only more frequent with Mr Miliband's lamentable departure.

Comments

[therealpm]

*Slightly peeved at his failure to elicit a response from John, Peter yanks up the car's heater to full and holds his hands in front of it.*

Mildly busy writing responses to Mr Miliband's departure, but otherwise life is somewhat serene.

[bamfbercow]

Yes, I did see that on the news this morning...

*John is tempted to complain about the proper procedure for these things and that an MP can't just resign, that isn't how it work; they should know this by now and what's wrong with this Parliament, come to think of it... but he lets it slide. He'll save those discussions for when Peter's got a glass of wine or two in him and is less likely to hex John into silence.*

What have you picked out for dinner for us tonight?

[therealpm]

*Peter shuffles deeper into his seat, slightly mollified by the extra warmth.*

Pasta, and no, it's not spaghetti bolognaise or spaghetti hoops on toast.

*The last is said with enough of a sneer as to indicate Peter's Views on one of John's favourite hangover dishes.*

[bamfbercow]

I'm glad to hear that, Peter; spaghetti hoops on toast is a morning or midday meal for one or possibly two - it wouldn't do for a family dinner.

*They bicker for a short while about whether or not the combination counts as food let alone a meal. They get back onto the Parliamentary state and up to the flat without having reached anything approaching an agreement on the topic. The two only stop arguing when the children come charging down the hallway.*

[therealpm]

*Peter reflects, as he nearly topples over in the process of taking several children to the midriff, that either John's kids are getting entirely too old and large for this sort of rumbunctiousness, or that he would be better off sticking with some sort of four-legged form for enhanced stability whenever such instances of exuberant affection occur.*

[bamfbercow]

*John makes a couple of trips and get the shopping in the kitchen while the children insist on all getting hugs from Peter. By the time Peter has negotiated an exit, a mug of tea is waiting for him on the side.*

I would suggest that if you visited more often then you wouldn't be greeted in such a manner, but I highly doubt that would be the case.

*John sips at his own tea.*

Is there anything I can do to help with the preparation of dinner?

[therealpm]

*Peter shoos John out of the kitchen by way of reply and sets about making the sauce for the rigatoni. A little under an hour (and several dirty pans) later, dinner is served with a flourish and Peter watches smugly as the children wolf it down, with even Jemima preferring to eat her food rather than fling it across the table.*

[bamfbercow]

*Impressed even more than he usually is with Peter's culinary efforts, John tidies up and does the dishes without even the thought of an argument. When he's finished, he takes a fresh round of tea to the livingroom where Peter is making sure the children don't draw on each other too much.*

[therealpm]

*'Too much' is a very relative term. Peter has managed, mostly, to confine the drawing to skin only and to completely avoid the presence of any marker pen on the soft furnishings. Freddie's face, on the other hand...*

[bamfbercow]

Freddie... Freddie, what on earth is...

...Oliver did you sign your brother's face?

[therealpm]

*Peter just sighs, closes his eyes and sips his tea, trying to ignore the row brewing on the other side of the coffee table. So focussed is he on maintaining his small bubble of peace in the eye of the developing storm, that he doesn't notice Jemima creeping up on him until she sucessfully grabs one of his ears and tickles behind it.

The soft furnishings (and Peter's trousers), so carefully stewarded as to be free of marker pen, are summarily soaked with hot tea.*

[bamfbercow]

*John and Oliver halt their argument when they spot Peter's tea go flying. John quickly casts a cooling charm in Peter's direction, hoping to stop the worst of the burn.*

Are you alright?

[therealpm]

*Given that his lower half has gone from scalding to freezing in the space of half a second, Peter considers his response to Jemima of "No TV for a week" through gritted teeth to be really quite measured and calm. Nevertheless, the children are spooked enough to run upstairs and (by the sound of it) start tidying their rooms, which makes him feel a little guilty.*

Fine. Do you have a towel?

[bamfbercow]

*John summons a towel from the airing cupboard and hands it to Peter. He sets about tidying up and cleaning the carpet as Peter dries himself off.*

[therealpm]

*Feeling a tad embarrassed about needing to pat himself dry with a towel and still not in the best of moods, Peter gets up to leave.*

[bamfbercow]

*John spots Peter about to leave.*

We've still got a good bottle of red left over from Christmas if you'd like to stay for a bit longer?

[therealpm]

*Peter rubs his ear- it still aches from being yanked.

On the one hand, a dry pair of trousers would be nice. On the other, after this evening he feels entitled to extract as much good wine from John as possible.

He sulks back to the sofa and sits on the dry end.*

Put another log on the fire, it's still cold in here.

[bamfbercow]

*John does as Peter says, pocking the fire to make sure it is blazing well before he fetches the nice wine. He pours out two glasses and is about to take a seat on the other (still damp) end of the sofa when he recalls the earlier incident. John casts a quick drying charm on the seat and sits down - it may not be perfectly dry, but it's a little better at least.*

Another by-election then. Is it presumptuous of me to assume that The Machine is already getting excited about the prospect of electioneering again?

[therealpm]

*Peter rolls his eyes*

The seat hasn't elected a Tory for well over a century and has been held by Labour since 1935. Somehow I doubt the PPC needs much help.

[bamfbercow]

Nevertheless, surely it's a good opportunity to make sure everything is in working order come 2015. You can't honestly tell me that preparations for the general election haven't started yet.

*John takes a sip from his wine. He makes a mental note to keep the bottle label and try and track down another one of these in the near future.*

[therealpm]

And why would you be interested?

*Peter glances at John sidelong over his glass.*

I thought you were entirely impartial.

[bamfbercow]

It is entirely possible for one to not be backing a specific horse and yet still be able to enjoy watching the race.

If you don't want to talk about politics then feel free to bring a new topic of conversation into the discussion.

[therealpm]

*Peter sniffs disdainfully and takes a rather long sip.*

Get off the fence before people mistake you for a Lib Dem.

[bamfbercow]

*John has to laugh at that.*

I am not sitting on the fence! I don't know why you insist on insinuating that by being consistent in dutifully adhering to the requirements of my post I am somehow acting out a betrayal. It is rather childish, Peter.

[therealpm]

*He puts on an exaggerated pout.*

But we sent our best and brightest to sway you towards a proper political party! How could you resist our Leader's boundless charm and charisma?