My giraffe has been kidnapped
Well. It's my last day at work, and I wasn't in the Minsterial office all day yesterday because I was at the Parliamentary one. So I come in to work this morning, and there is a big sign on my computer screen reading: "GIVE UP YOUR TICKET.... THERE IS NO HOPE FOR HAROLD UNLESS YOU DO!!"
Harold is my walking, talking giraffe from Hamleys. Of late, he has taken to sporting a silver alfoil cape, hat (more of a do-rag), and boots, for he is a Space Ranger Giraffe. He has also been wearing a giant orange bow around his neck, for less obvious reasons.
This morning, the detritus of his attire was scattered across my chair and desk. From the nature of the crime scene, I smell the hand of Evil Sarah (who is Awesome Fun.)
This is Harold, on the occasion of Cameron's birthday. Imagine that orange ribbon tied around his neck.
I want my giraffe back!
(Last day of Parly was quite lovely. My name is now in Hansard, but in a good way. (Evil Min.) Lots of people came in to say goodbye. The cafeteria ladies got all teary, particularly Margaret, who came out to give me a hug and told me to behave myself and try to eat better than I do now.)