It's not that I'm not a supporter of GB. It's just that he definitely doesn't know my name

Blair's back. We always know TB is on the scene because GB starts pounding round the office, tearing up bits of paper and chewing the lamps. Peter also spends a lot more time in No 10, keeping everyone calm (and stopping Damian McBride from coming back to rough up the few Blairies who are still clinging on). It's moments like this that I wish we didn't work open-plan. How am I supposed to concentrate on chapter two of Empowering Citizens: the Next Steps?

But, I have to admit, I rather love it when there's talk of Tony. I don't say anything, obviously, but I can't help finding it deeply reassuring. Suddenly I'm back there in 1997, watching Tony and Cherie enter No 10 and thinking: "One day, Fran. One day you will work for this man and be at the forefront of progressive politics and parental choice."

When TB left, I had to cry in the loo. That's not to say I'm not a supporter of GB. It's just that he definitely doesn't know my name, although I've sat in 39 meetings with him (I have a chart), and the only thing he's ever said to me is "Thanks for all that you do," when I know for a fact that a) he says that to everyone, including the policeman outside, and b) he doesn't actually know what I do. But then, says New Media Lucy, nor does anyone else.

Anyway, the past few weeks have gone something like this:

Peter: "We have to make a statement supporting Tony as EU president."
GB: "Gah."

It hasn't been terribly productive. Miliband senior popped in to reassure GB that he wasn't about to bob off to be the EU foreign minister.
GB responded with a grunt. (He has quite a range of these - I think this one meant: "Thanks for letting me know, but don't think I haven't got my eye on you, you fresh-faced man-child.") Then we had to prepare GB for Brussels, which is not unlike packing a small child off to school. Speech: check. Automatic enthusiastic endorsement of TB: check. Smile: check. And then, peace.

When GB isn't in the office, everyone seems to float around laughing all the time, with Disney music playing in the background. I can get
on with the real stuff - the footnotes, the PowerPoint - and the mood lifts. We were even about to go to the pub on Tuesday, but Press Office Dave got a call from Andy in Brussels saying that the Guardian was "FUCKING WITH US AS USUAL", and we thought better of it. Oh well. Not long till Christmas.

Next week: Gideon Donald

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