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.

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What David Hockney has to tell us about football

Why the sudden glut of blond footballers? A conversation I had with the artist back in 1966 gave me a clue. . .

In 1966, I went to interview David Hockney at a rather run-down flat in Bayswater, central London. He was 28 and had just won a gold medal at the Royal College of Art.

In his lavatory, I noticed a cut-out photograph from a newspaper of Denis Law scoring a goal. I asked if he was a football fan. He said no, he just liked Denis Law’s thighs.

The sub-editors cut that remark out of the story, to save any gossip or legal problems. In 1966 homosexual activity could still be an offence.

Hockney and a friend had recently been in the United States and had been watching an advert on TV that said “Blondes have more fun”. At two o’clock in the morning, slightly drunk, they both went out, bought some hair dye and became blond. Hockney decided to remain blond from then on, though he has naturally dark hair.

Is it true that blonds have more fun? Lionel Messi presumably thinks so, otherwise why has he greeted this brand-new season with that weird blond hair? We look at his face, his figure, his posture and we know it’s him – then we blink, thinking what the heck, does he realise some joker has been pouring stuff on his head?

He has always been such a staid, old-fashioned-looking lad, never messing around with his hair till now. Neymar, beside him, has gone even blonder, but somehow we expect it of him. He had foony hair even before he left Brazil.

Over here, blonds are popping up all over the shop. Most teams now have a born-again blondie. It must take a fortune for Marouane Fellaini of Man United to brighten up his hair, as he has so much. But it’s already fading. Cheapskate.

Mesut Özil of Arsenal held back, not going the full head, just bits of it, which I suspect is a clue to his wavering, hesitant personality. His colleague Aaron Ramsey has almost the full blond monty. Paul Pogba of Man United has a sort of blond streak, more like a marker pen than a makeover. His colleague Phil Jones has appeared blond, but he seems to have disappeared from the team sheet. Samir Nasri of Man City went startlingly blond, but is on loan to Seville, so we’re not able to enjoy his locks. And Didier Ndong of Sunderland is a striking blond, thanks to gallons of bleach.

Remember the Romanians in the 1998 World Cup? They suddenly appeared blond, every one of them. God, that was brilliant. One of my all-time best World Cup moments, and I was at Wembley in 1966.

So, why do they do it? Well, Hockney was right, in a sense. Not to have more fun – meaning more sex – because top footballers are more than well supplied, but because their normal working lives are on the whole devoid of fun.

They can’t stuff their faces with fast food, drink themselves stupid, stay up all night, take a few silly pills – which is what many of our healthy 25-year-old lads consider a reasonably fun evening. Nor can they spend all their millions on fun hols, such as skiing in the winter, a safari in the spring, or hang-gliding at the weekend. Prem players have to be so boringly sensible these days, or their foreign managers will be screaming at them in their funny foreign accents.

While not on the pitch, or training, which takes up only a few hours a day, the boredom is appalling, endlessly on planes or coaches or in some hotel that could be anywhere.

The only bright spot in the long days is to look in the mirror and think: “Hmm, I wonder what highlights would look like? I’ve done the beard and the tattoos. Now let’s go for blond. Wow, gorgeous.”

They influence each other, being simple souls, so when one dyes his hair, depending on where he is in the macho pecking order, others follow. They put in the day by looking at themselves. Harmless fun. Bless ’em.

But I expect all the faux blonds to have gone by Christmas. Along with Mourinho. I said that to myself the moment he arrived in Manchester, smirking away. Pep will see him off. OK then, let’s say Easter at the latest . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times