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The secret life of Lucinda Creighton


When I made that comment about extending the biscuit tin, I was referring solely to the delight that is the Chocolate HobNob. This party does not have any truck with some of the fancier confectionery favoured by those reprobates in Fianna Fail.


A quick read of the papers throws up the information that Enda was "disappointed" by my comments at the MacGill summer school. I hate when he's "disappointed" in me. It's like, whatever? I hope I'm not grounded.


"The country's gone to hell in a hand cart and she's accusing her own party of liking HobNobs? That's the lowest of the low. Everyone knows I'm a Digestive man." Crap. I knew Enda would be p**sed off, but now he sounds really mad.


No word from Enda. Spend the day refusing boxes of biscuits from 'bad' developers.


Today I got a nice box of biscuits from a 'good' developer. Let me first of all make the distinction between 'good' developers and 'bad' developers. The good ones send biscuits. The bad ones send IOUs from Nama.


Finally! An email just pinged into my inbox from one Mr Enda Kenny. "Lucinda," it said. "I just want to wipe the slate clean. From now on, this party is a biscuit-free zone." Noooooo!


I've changed my mind: biscuits are so unhealthy anyway. And the tins are something Celtic Tiger politicians would have used to collect donations. From now on, I'm all about my empty Jimmy Choo boxes.