Maximum efficiency at maintaining professional standards

Alice O'Keeffe's "Squeezed Middle" column.

The computer screen is swimming in front of my eyes. I pull together every fibre of mental strength to finish my sentence: “. . . streamlining the governance structures of the organisation for maximum . . .” For maximum what? Accountability? Efficiency? Cabbage? Impact! Impact. Phew.

This is my first attempt to work since baby Moe was born. Isla, a former colleague who now has a high-up job in the arts, has asked me to help write an annual report. I get a decent day rate and I can do it from home. If I don’t mess it up, there may be more work forthcoming.

This is a cheering prospect, as we are crazily broke. My clothes are actually threadbare: the other day, I was chatting to some rather stylish mothers outside Larry’s nursery and only realised when I got home that my jeans had ripped right across the arse – and not in an on-trend way. Also, the fateful day on which we will have to renew the car insurance is looming. So I am definitely not in a position to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The problem is that baby Moe is still not sleeping properly. For a reason I have not yet managed to identify, he wakes up several times a night and often howls for more than an hour before, equally inexplicably, popping his thumb into his mouth and drifting off again. I have ruled out hunger, illness and teething. Cuddles work but only temporarily. Even Calpol seems to be losing its magic.

I am trying to implement a draconian sleep-training regime but it is difficult when you are so exhausted that you would gladly pawn your own grandmother for an unbroken four hours. Last night was particularly bad. At one point, I found myself semiconscious on the floor, with Moe draped across my face.

Anyway, here I am, a Writing and Editing Professional. I’m still in my pyjamas, yes, and smeared with porridge, maybe, but I’m nevertheless the Solution To All Your Editorial Needs.

“Er, I think he needs a feed.” Curly pokes his head around the door. He has been trying to keep Moe quiet in the other room so I can concentrate. I stagger across the room, crashland on the sofa and take Moe in my arms. As he suckles away, a delicious wave of relaxation sweeps over me. I lean my head back and close my eyes, just for a moment, until . . . “Babe, I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go.” Curly has his hand on my shoulder. I wrench my head from the cushions and stare at him uncomprehendingly. Go? But his course doesn’t start until seven. And I’ve only got to page three of the report. And the deadline is tomorrow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

He strokes my head. Moe, who after this marathon nap will definitely be awake all night, nuzzles innocently into my armpit. “Perhaps you should tell them you can’t do this work. You’re not ready.”

“I can’t pull out now!” I disentangle myself and run wildly back to my desk, my hair a mess. “I’ve committed . . . my reputation . . . have some standards . . . I’m a professional!”.

Alice O'Keeffe's "Squeezed Middle" column appears weekly in the New Statesman magazine.

Alice O'Keeffe is an award-winning journalist and former arts editor of the New Statesman. She now works as a freelance writer and looks after two young children. You can find her on Twitter as @AliceOKeeffe.

This article first appeared in the 15 July 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The New Machiavelli

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Theresa May is paying the price for mismanaging Boris Johnson

The Foreign Secretary's bruised ego may end up destroying Theresa May. 

And to think that Theresa May scheduled her big speech for this Friday to make sure that Conservative party conference wouldn’t be dominated by the matter of Brexit. Now, thanks to Boris Johnson, it won’t just be her conference, but Labour’s, which is overshadowed by Brexit in general and Tory in-fighting in particular. (One imagines that the Labour leadership will find a way to cope somehow.)

May is paying the price for mismanaging Johnson during her period of political hegemony after she became leader. After he was betrayed by Michael Gove and lacking any particular faction in the parliamentary party, she brought him back from the brink of political death by making him Foreign Secretary, but also used her strength and his weakness to shrink his empire.

The Foreign Office had its responsibility for negotiating Brexit hived off to the newly-created Department for Exiting the European Union (Dexeu) and for navigating post-Brexit trade deals to the Department of International Trade. Johnson was given control of one of the great offices of state, but with no responsibility at all for the greatest foreign policy challenge since the Second World War.

Adding to his discomfort, the new Foreign Secretary was regularly the subject of jokes from the Prime Minister and cabinet colleagues. May likened him to a dog that had to be put down. Philip Hammond quipped about him during his joke-fuelled 2017 Budget. All of which gave Johnson’s allies the impression that Johnson-hunting was a licensed sport as far as Downing Street was concerned. He was then shut out of the election campaign and has continued to be a marginalised figure even as the disappointing election result forced May to involve the wider cabinet in policymaking.

His sense of exclusion from the discussions around May’s Florence speech only added to his sense of isolation. May forgot that if you aren’t going to kill, don’t wound: now, thanks to her lost majority, she can’t afford to put any of the Brexiteers out in the cold, and Johnson is once again where he wants to be: centre-stage. 

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman. His daily briefing, Morning Call, provides a quick and essential guide to domestic and global politics.