I’ve got a bit of a love/hate relationship with the summer Parliament holidays. I love them because you don’t have to work and you can sleep in as late as you want and you can sit in front of the TV in morning in your jim jams eating Coco Pops and watching cartoons and you get presents from Santa at Christmas time, but I also hate them because a few days after new year’s eve I start to get bored and Susan gets on my case about lounging around the house and whining about having nothing to do even though I lie to her and say I’ve got heaps to do and that Nick Xzennophone’s going to call up any minute and invite me around to his house to play. And every year, no matter how busy I try to make myself look busy (this year I started constructing the Mother Of All Cubby Houses in the lounge room using bed sheets and the next-door neighbour’s nailgun), Susan always eventually insists that I go in to my electorate office and help out a bit.
I didn’t even know I had an electorate office until two summer holidays ago. That year, when Susan told me to go there I thought she was saying “electricity office” and I called her a stupid idiot, poked my tongue out the side of my mouth, crossed my eyes, and did the crazy sign with my finger around my ear. After my two weeks’ grounding Susan drove me to my electorate office and told me to help my office manager do whatever needed to be done.