The hushed days between Christmas and New Year are wonderful, aren't they? Time to catch up on my reading at last with Attlee the cat curled up beside me. All a far cry from the pre-holiday madness.

Take the Christmas drinks: a glass of warm white wine and some Pringles around the desks. Someone had suggested we go out, but then we got news that GB would be joining us. (I can't say the reception was ecstatic.) GB wished us well and told us to come back restored in the new year, ready for the Great Fight. I think he raised his glass at that point and let out a sort of grunting rallying cry. There was a rather faint-hearted "Hear, hear" from Peter. Alastair (who'd popped in) gave us a wink and told us to go and get "rat-arsed", which prompted the departure of half the team, leaving me struggling for chit-chat with (Bully) Balls. He looked less than intrigued by my questions about the DCFS home education strategy and seemed to want to talk to Peter instead. But Peter was cornered by Miliband (Senior) who had turned up (definitely uninvited) and was doing that glass-eyed charm number he whips out when there's a leadership contest at hand.

Poor old GB was stuck, back to the wall, surrounded by the IT boys. No one was quite sure how it had happened.

Thank God Sarah came in at that point, releasing GB from his techie prison (I swear they were talking about firewalls). Peter kissed her on both cheeks, which seemed to make her wince. She said a few words, thanking us for our work. No mention of our (my) groundbreaking work on public-service reform, though. But then I remembered the strategy meeting the day before and Alastair's immortal words: "People, 2010 is not, I repeat not, about public-service reform. No one gives a shit (apart from cuts, which we're not going to mention). No, 2010 is about murdering those smug, fat, toffy Tory bastards."

All in all, I'm rather dreading the return to the office. GB will be impossible. Peter will be steely. Both will be simultaneously suspicious and astonishingly aggressive. My diminished role? To check that what we promise in the manifesto isn't entirely fabricated and has some vague connection to policy somewhere.

I predict that 2010 will be about scrabbling to keep one's head above water, and hoping that there isn't a beastly Tory grabbing at one's ankles. Tony's elections were never like this.

Next week: Gideon Donald