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Due to a clerical error on my part, the current Prime Minister is now living in the box room at our house The former Prime Minister was, of course, replaced at the last election by an almost formless howling mass resembling a fleshy cyst lump This fleshy cyst lump now lives in a city centre flat share with some not quite young, almost professionals It’s an awkward situation but we’re really trying to make the best of it The highly confidential policy documents he leaves in our communal living space give me an illicit thrill but his nightly wailing is very distracting I suppose overall the situation is slightly worse than when Helen decided to sublet her room to an actor but not as bad as Nina and Karen breaking up and continuing to live in the same room They’ve divided the room down the middle with balled up socks and dirty knickers and secretly fuck on the dividing line two out of seven nights a week, leaving the undeniable tang of sex hanging in the space around their faux innocent faces  I’m going through quite a stressful time in the office right now It’s mostly, if not entirely, due to the clerical error, the consequences of which I could never have predicted three or four months ago when certain machinations created the tragic circumstances which led me to commit such a heinous mistake Therefore right now I could do without the Prime Minister’s howling and crying when I get home Certainly life would be improved without his rending of garments and the haunting screams that disturb the air for hours after they have left his so called body But I suppose as long as he pays the rent on time I can cope I’ve left it to Nina to chase him up on that She complains about the responsibility associated with this role but I know she secretly loves the task: every month flogging us until we pay up It seems the weeping sores on my back heal just in time for the next message