My job application to be Nadine Dorries' daughter

I would like to be considered for the role of Nadine Dorries' other daughter.

Dear Sir/Madam,

I was excited to learn that Nadine Dorries employs her daughter on a salary of £30,000 to £34,999 as "senior secretary" - this according to the MPs' expenses for 2012/13 published on 12 September by the Independent Parliamentary Standards Authority.

I would like to offer my services as Nadine Dorries' other daughter.

I cannot think of a role that would help me stand out more in my future career. As Nadine Dorries herself retweeted yesterday:

To date I have had 27 years experience in a similar (daughter) role, working my way up from a starting salary of 50p a week. But for a while now I have been taking on outside work to supplement my earnings, which have become increasingly sparse and unpredictable. I believe I have all the key skills you are looking for.

Key Skills:

1. Being Nadine Dorries' daughter

Cards on the table here: I am not Nadine Dorries' daughter. However, I'd like to make the case that I am. Please don't stop reading!

Let me start by quoting Nadine Dorries herself, talking about her blog in 2010, after an MP standards watchdog criticised it for misleading constituents:

My blog is 70 per cent fiction and 30 per cent fact. It is written as a tool to enable my constituents to know me better and to reassure them of my commitment to Mid Bedfordshire.

As a living thing, I share at least 30 per cent genetic material with Nadine Dorries. If not more! This will reassure you of my commitment to being Nadine Dorries' daughter, both within Mid Bedfordshire and further afield.

2. Having been given birth to by Nadine Dorries

Ok, so I was not - technically -  given birth to by Nadine Dorries. But I don't think this is a serious problem! Indeed, to quote Nadine Dorries, talking about her blog in 2010:

I rely heavily on poetic licence and frequently replace one place name/event/fact with another.

In this spirit:

I was totally/ given birth to/ by Nadine Dorries/ What rhymes with Dorries?/ (Porridge)

3. Being biologically related to Nadine Dorries, in that she is my mother

If I am being completely honest: I am not in any way biologically related to Nadine Dorries, and she is not my mother.

OR IS SHE?

According to the Bedfordshire News in 2010, Nadine Dorries said she was prevented from telling the complete truth on her blog on police advice, in order to prevent unwanted attention, and to protect her staff and family.

What I'm saying is, things are not always as they seem. And sometimes, the truth is hidden for a reason.

4. Tweeting

According to the Mirror, Nadine Dorries' third daughter, Cassie, ran her mother's Twitter account during Nadine's spell in Australia  - for a £40,000 fee. For a similar reward package, I could also do this.

I hope to hear from you very soon,

Best wishes,

Martha Gill

Nadine Dorries. Photograph: Getty Images

Martha Gill writes the weekly Irrational Animals column. You can follow her on Twitter here: @Martha_Gill.

Photo: Getty
Show Hide image

What happened when a couple accidentally recorded two hours of their life

The cassette tape threw Dan and Fiona into a terrible panic.

If the Transformers series of movies (Transformers; Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen; Transformers: Dark of the Moon; Transformers: Age of Extinction; and Transformers: the Last Knight) teach us anything, it is that you think your life is going along just fine but in a moment, with a single mistake or incident, it can be derailed and you never know from what direction the threat will come. Shia LaBeouf, for example, thinks everything is completely OK in his world – then he discovers his car is a shape-shifting alien.

I once knew a couple called Dan and Fiona who, on an evening in the early 1980s, accidentally recorded two hours of their life. Fiona was an English teacher (in fact we’d met at teacher-training college) and she wished to make a recording of a play that was being broadcast on Radio 4 about an anorexic teenager living on a council estate in Belfast. A lot of the dramas at that time were about anorexic teenagers living on council estates in Belfast, or something very similar – sometimes they had cancer.

Fiona planned to get her class to listen to the play and then they would have a discussion about its themes. In that pre-internet age when there was no iPlayer, the only practical way to hear something after the time it had been transmitted was to record the programme onto a cassette tape.

So Fiona got out their boom box (a portable Sony stereo player), loaded in a C120 tape, switched on the radio part of the machine, tuned it to Radio 4, pushed the record button when the play began, and fastidiously turned the tape over after 60 minutes.

But instead of pushing the button that would have taped the play, she had actually pushed the button that activated the built-in microphone, and the machine captured, not the radio drama, but the sound of 120 minutes of her and Dan’s home life, which consisted solely of: “Want a cup of tea?” “No thanks.” And a muffled fart while she was out of the room. That was all. That was it.

The two of them had, until that moment, thought their life together was perfectly happy, but the tape proved them conclusively wrong. No couple who spent their evenings in such torpidity could possibly be happy. Theirs was clearly a life of grinding tedium.

The evidence of the cassette tape threw Dan and Fiona into a terrible panic: the idea of spending any more of their evenings in such bored silence was intolerable. They feared they might have to split up. Except they didn’t want to.

But what could they do to make their lives more exciting? Should they begin conducting sordid affairs in sleazy nightclubs? Maybe they could take up arcane hobbies such as musketry, baking terrible cakes and entering them in competitions, or building models of Victorian prisons out of balsa wood? Might they become active in some kind of extremist politics?

All that sounded like a tremendous amount of effort. In the end they got themselves a cat and talked about that instead. 

This article first appeared in the 20 July 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The new world disorder