Monday

We are in Gordon’s office, which looks an awful lot like my office. Although bigger. Gordon is pacing around, and I am practising looking at myself in the mirror and not noticing that I am there. The eyebrows are a problem. Not noticing yourself is the first step to actual invisibility.

“So what do you think?” grunts Gordon.

“I think what you think,” I grunt back.

Gordon chuckles. It’s a new thing of his, the chuckle. I must master it. Although I can’t pretend I get the joke. I really do think what he thinks. I don’t think anything else. I wouldn’t remember how to go about it.

As a general rule, it is best never to think things that nobody else thinks. If you do, people might notice you thinking it.

“We’re suddenly on the back foot,” Gordon grunts now. “Don’t you think so?”

“I do think so,” I agree, allowing myself to fade in and out of view.

“Fancy,” says Gordon.

Tuesday

Today, I may think about rethinking what I think about capital gains tax. Perhaps I should try thinking what George Osborne thinks. I think Gordon thinks I should.

I ask my wife. Usually, I call her “darling”. Also, she calls me “darling”. This is something we have never discussed.

“Darling?” says my wife, “Run that past me again?” We are in our apartment in Downing Street, which we have had decorated in very neutral tones. We may be in the living room, we may be in the bedroom. There is no difference. Not being different is the second step towards actual invisibility.

I explain about being on the back foot. “I must also change my voice,” I add. “I must be posh and squeaky, like George Osborne. Not Scottish, like Gordon.”

“But darling,” says my wife. “You are Scottish, too.” I admonish her. As she well knows, this has always been mere coincidence.

Wednesday

They say I am a boring man. Good.

Boringness is the third step towards actual invisibility.

Perhaps I was unclear. Although Darling is my name, it is also a term of endearment. When used by myself or my wife, both meanings apply. Do you follow?

Some people consider this concurrence humorous. I consider it efficient. My name, like my face and beliefs and voice and everything other than my accursed eyebrows, is neutral. When somebody says it, nobody thinks of me.

Yet suddenly, I think people are thinking of me. Ever since my PreBudget Report, I am a man about whom people have views. It is almost intolerable. People are saying my name and meaning me. Why? It makes no sense to mean me. It is inefficient. One might as well mean Gordon Brown or George Osborne, and save time. Maybe, tomorrow, I will call Gordon “darling” to clarify matters. Or maybe not.

Thursday

A terrible morning. I give evidence to the Treasury Select Committee about Northern Rock and I am studied, remorselessly.

A better afternoon. They say that a white polar bear, on the white ice, covers his black nose with his paw in order to conceal himself from seals. This afternoon, I am like that. With my hands over my eyebrows I float around Westminster like a wraith.

Friday

If only every day could be like yesterday afternoon. Last night I shaved off my eyebrows. Now, I am waiting in Gordon’s office with my head in my hands. He wanders in, scowling, and sits down at his desk. After a while, I clear my throat.

“Hello?” I say. “Gordon? Darling?” Gordon says nothing. He doesn’t even look my way. Eventually, I let myself out. I am pleased. It seems that the fourth step towards total invisibility is shaving off your eyebrows.

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