"If at first you don't succeed, try try again..."

An idea this morning, as my brain swirled in a dark grey mist, to cycle once again to the House of Commons, lobby my MP and get him to read out my postcard.

Wednesday today you see, Prime Ministers Questions. Even if it wasn't, I'd've done it today anyway on the off chance Dobbi was there.

The woman puts a call through to the chamber when I get to the central lobby and he's not there, not from what they can see anyway.

I know I can't lobby anyone else but sod it, I say to the pair at reception. Give it ago they reply.

My first Green Card, to Frank Dobson: "I have a copy of "the" postcard. Please read it out for me."

My second Green Card to Simon Hughes MP for the Libdems, who always makes the right noises about housing but doesn't live in the borough but who cares?: "Mr Clegg knows me. I sent a postcard to the coalition. Please care. Please read it out." (Oh damn, should have included 'I have a copy with me.' Oh well)

Then I settle down on the same leather green sofa as yesterday and pull out today's Guardian (Oh yes, I learnt something from yesterday's trip...)

At 12.30 they all file out. I know there is little chance I will see either of these MP's if they're around because I've already been told there are two exits from the central chamber. Would they scarper from me? I can't help wondering.

I recognise one guy off the telly. Damn, who is he? What party? Shite, shite shite shite. Red tie. That may mean nothing. Bugger. He keeps looking at me too but don't know why, I'm not off the telly. Maybe I look like his sister's friend (somebody asked me if I was their sister's friend just the other week. I look just like her apparantly.)

I think of going up to him and saying "I don't know who you are but you might be able to help," but um and ah about it for too long and he's gone. (Is he the minister for culture I'm now thinking? Hmm)

No matter, I've just spotted Sir Mingus Campbell walking towards a tv crew! I like him! Though I base my judgements from Question Time only.

I grab him as he looks to head off. "I need your advice," I say. "Can I talk to you for five minutes?" He tells me he has only two.

I tell him I met Clegg in February and he said he'd help me and my son and well, now, we're awaiting a bailiff's order. He's sorry to hear it, he says, sounding like he means it. I show him and read to him the postcard and the long and the short of that is that his consituency is up in Scotland and anyway can't act for me because I'm not his constituent. I show him abit of the article I wrote in the local paper. "This is policy. It's about my borough but it's a national problem."

He tells me there's a libdem conference at the weekend, which I know (and can't think why he'd tell me that though maybe because they'll talk about housing? Dunno)

He tells me to go to my MP and I say I will. "It's do or die in a situation like this and it's the third time for me and my son," I tell him. "That's the postcard, I'm doing something." He understands. He's got a very gentle face and struck me as a very genuine person. It's a nice thought to have when your sitting position is that 'politician' and 'genuine person' are not words that go together.

I'm home now and need my instinct to carry me to my next plan of action, whatever that is.

"If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There's no point being a damn fool about it." (W.C.Fields)

How can I quit? I can't. Is there a point being a damn fool about it? I don't know. I do know I'm going to fantasise though. Fantasise that alot of good will come out of my trip today. For my boy, for my borough, for my country.