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2010 booklet This page last updated: 7 June 2010
Everybody’s heard of the Minister who Tweets the happenings of his Statutory Instrument Committee to the massed ranks of the British electorate (in reality, seven lazy journalists hoping they’ll let slip a “gaffe”), or the famous MP whose blog is as incisive as it is witty. Such heroes soon develop a following of laptop wielding fans who, along with their staffers, all speak the incomprehensible language of Geek. But legends also abound of elected representatives who reckon that “a good kicking” is a solution to most software problems, think that “Twittering” is something most elderly ladies do, and who will cheerfully leave the business of the newfangled technology to their staff. As terrible as the Luddism of the latter case sounds in comparison to the smooth Web 2.0 stylings of the former, in reality if your boss falls into either of these distinct categories, you’re laughing. The best boss either has no computer skills or could give your average fourteen year old Californian hacker a run for their money, but in any case both are cogniscent of their skills or lack thereof and it is around such self-awareness that happy offices operate. Unfortunately, most Members of Parliament neither fall neatly into one of these groups nor boast “self-awareness” as a personality trait. More than likely your boss will manifest an unbridled and almost child-like enthusiasm for the internet and all its mysteries, whilst being blissfully unaware of how the damn thing works. Not that this will stop them, oh no. So if you are one of the poor unfortunates whose MP has recently received instructions from their party HQ to “start blogging because, like, it’s WELL cool mmmkay?” here’s a guide for surviving the inevitable flame wars that will arise in the wake of your boss’ (hopefully) short-lived dalliance with all things online. Managing your MP on Microsoft Office In ye oldyen dayes when mincing around on Facebook when you should be writing a policy letter was a hitherto undiscovered luxury (or “pre-2001” as they are known on the Parliamentary Estate) not all offices were hooked up to the Parliamentary Intranet. In fact, if you were unlucky enough to be stationed in one of those offices in the main Palace – cramped, over-heated, and smelling vaguely of mothballs – it is likely that you would have been able to access the internet only via the sort of dial-up that sounds like it’s trying to connect to an exchange server in Hades, judging from all the grunting and howling Parliamentary computers were wont to make if you attempted it. And if you were in the constituency office, forget it; your only hope for instant communication was an obliging carrier pigeon or smoke signals. Things have much improved since then, and now every office on the Estate and the constituency office are wired up to the latest broadband facilities the Parliamentary Internet Communications and Technology (PICT) can muster for us. And this, more often than not, is where the problems start. The establishment of their parliament.uk email account will necessarily bring your boss in contact with Microsoft Outlook, which manages emails, his or her diary (which most staff in an MP’s office will have access to), and contacts. Here are some tips for staying sane:
Supervising your MP’s use of the SmartPhone By and large, you should discourage your MP from owning any kind of device that means that he or she can forward you emails or bother you about work stuff at last orders at 11.15pm, Saturday night. The reasons behind this are twofold:
Your MP’s website This is something that all MPs should really have, and most do. It doesn’t need to be too flashy: just a basic site. A bog-standard website should have:
And if you’re lucky, engagement with the online world will stop there. If you’re not lucky, the chances are that the first port of call for your boss in their quest to lose their Web 2.0 virginity will be Facebook. The rot really began to set in with the increased popularity of Facebook a couple of years ago as detailed by W4MP alt.guide advisors. See Claire Romney’s sage counsel www.w4mp.org/html/library/altguide/tenthingsnever_part2.asp if you don’t believe us. It only took a couple of enterprising PPCs and a few high-profile additions to the parliament network before the bars were a-buzz with this brilliant innovation which, according to over-excitable web advisors at various party HQs, would definitely re-engage the citizenry with the political process. It’s like the printing press, they breathlessly informed wide-eyed elected representatives, but it’s free! And has pictures! If your MP cannot be dissuaded from getting a profile by a folder of press cuttings from the Private Eye bearing the legend “WHEN FACEBOOK GOES WRONG: PART THE NINETEENTH” on the front, or bloodcurdling tales of media humiliation at the hands of ill-judged late-night wall posts after a couple of beers in Strangers’, then prepare to roll up your sleeves and get stuck in. The most important thing to remember is to always have security settings enabled. Have one list for actual genuine friends of the MP, whose members can see your boss’ wall, view his photos and the like. Have another for those who, you suspect, are media graduates hell bent on making their name in the noble industry that comprises the Fourth Estate by writing an article which involves a picture of your boss rather the worse for wear in his hilarious “Hide My Sausage” t-shirt underneath the headline: SHAME! There will always be one or two that fall between the cracks though, so be vigilant: un-tag dodgy pictures, edit rambling wall posts threatening to disembowel neighbouring MPs, and – unless your boss is under twenty-five – never, ever, under any circumstances allow them to use “LOL”, “ROFLMAO” or similar. If at all possible, try and persuade your MP that as they’re using Facebook as a communication tool, it should fall to you to administer it. However if this fails, well. Our prayers are with you. Incidentally, there is a real story somewhere of a councillor who made the career-knackering decision of adding the “what sex toy are you?” application (nipple tassels, if I remember it correctly). This sort of thing is likely to be remembered by the opposition when it comes to writing leaflets at election time. Don’t have nightmares. Blogging Until a couple of years ago, most bag-carriers could rest easy in their beds safe in the knowledge that most Parliamentarians knew “blogging” only as something that fast-food companies did in the Amazon to clear the way for livestock grazing. Jolly bad thing too! Then a couple of MPs (yeah. We all know who you are) starting hitting the headlines with stuff they’d written on their blogs, and suddenly you find all hell is breaking loose on your work station when you return from lunch to find your boss already in possession of www.working-hard-for-YOU.blogspot.com, comparing backdrop themes and champing at the bit to write his first post. The political blogosphere, for those blissfully unaware of its existence, is a scary place so again, urge caution. Having a free and honest exchange with the electorate sounds awfully nice when those pointy-headed policy wonks are advocating radical new methods of communication in a seminar, tucked away in an ivory tower somewhere in north London. The practical realisation of online engagement, however, has more in common with all-in wrestling than it does with Socratic dialectic. But your MP will not heed these warnings and will go skipping off out into no-man’s land. They will return, however, wiser, older, and sadder, having learnt the following:
And because, at heart, most MPs are sensitive souls, do remind them not to take anything too personally. In fact, the phrase “you sack of turd – I hope you and your stinking party is obliterated come 2010!!!!!111!!” (preferably all in capitals) is how I say, “top of the morning, friends! And what a glorious one it is, eh? Pip pip!” to my closest online acquaintances, in the open-asylum that is online political discourse. Unless you are frighteningly technologically savvy, if you Twitter and are a Member of Parliament over the age of 30 you are just going to look like a middle-aged uncle dancing with your thumbs in the air at your nephew’s wedding. Perhaps one of the most distressing things about Twitter is that our elected representatives and PPCs appear to lead such dull lives. Here are some not untypical examples of your average Tweet from such individuals:
Bag-carriers have first hand knowledge that no MP is this boring; they’re just not at liberty to really let rip, for the reasons explained above. But this being the case, be under no illusion: the only reason people follow your boss on Twitter is because they are waiting for them to get drunk and post something fruity about a well-known Cabinet Minister or Shadow spokesman. If he or she thinks that the fact they’ve got 2,000 followers (whose IP addresses, if they were checked, would probably all hail from the press gallery) is down to them all being interested in their views on the unadopted drains proposals in the Pitt Review, you should advise them to think again. Come to think of it, instead of embracing the internet revolution, why not advise your boss to take all their clothes off, get drunk, and sit in the Press Bar regaling them all with stories that would make even Russell Brand blush? It would be much easier. … and finally, sending a shout out to Parliamentary Information Communication Technology! There are some things that individuals should not ever be asked to undertake in the call of duty. Brave helpdesk staff at PICT – we salute you! DEAN TRENCH
Regular fans of Dean Trench will know of
his sad demise earlier in 2010 (obit
here). If you spot things which need updating or
amending anywhere in this new guide,
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