I’ll tell you a little secret about those mugs in the Cabinet ...

Over the past five years, as the wife of education Secretary turned Chief Whip Michael Gove, I’ve had a unique opportunity to observe the machine of government at close hand.

I can’t say it’s always been a joyous experience. But I’ve picked up a few valuable insights, which, in the spirit of pre- election democracy, I’m delighted to share . . .

POLITICS is the opposite of meritocratic: keep your head down and get on with your job, and you’ll get no glory. Spend your days conniving and plotting, and you’ll rise straight to the top. Just ask John Bercow.

All the mugs around the Cabinet table have a number engraved on their bottoms to stop ministers pinching them. there’s even someone whose job it is to check they’re all still there at the end of meetings.

AS Well as being bad for your sanity, politics is extremely bad for the waistline. All those official dinners, not to mention the ever present plate of biscuits and the obligatory glass of wine (or three) required to steady your nerves at the end of the day, take their toll.

We are basically governed by a group of mildly overweight pub bores.

the house of Commons is essentially modelled on the boarding school system, which is why men who were torn away from their homes at the tender age of seven tend to thrive.

And, just like school, new bugs are treated with utter contempt until they prove their mettle, usually by volunteering to take the blame for something they’ve not actually done.

Prefects (aka whips) roam the corridors, collaring dissenters and tripping up rivals.

Bloodsports are actively encouraged and, at least once a week, the two main house captains score points off each other while their acolytes bellow encouragement and the comp kids look on in utter bemusement.

LATELY — by which I mean since about 1920 — the whole applecart has been upset by the introduction of ladies, a seismic shift some of the older members of staff have yet to recover from.

there are only two types of women in politics: hotties and harridans. the former are usually assigned to so-called ‘feminine’ briefs, such as gender equality (it’s also generally understood that, owing to their attractiveness, they’re a bit thick).

the rest, meanwhile, are dismissed as lesbians, humourless old bats and very possibly both.

At some point, every MP wants to get their hands on a red box. Not so much for the political glory — more for the fact that it provides them with a reliable lift home. Since, in a fit of parsimony, the rules on the use of ministerial cars were tightened, big wigs have to find alternative means of transport unless they can prove they are on government business.

And how do you do that? By having a red box which, owing to the vital importance of its contents, must always travel in secure, air- conditioned, chauffeured splendour.

the civil service is a complete misnomer. It is neither civil nor a service. It regards elected members as a minor inconvenience and their so-called policies as an occupational hazard. thus most of their energies are directed to thwarting the wishes of ministers.

various generations of elected members have tried to change this, but they would have more luck trying to drain the sands of the Sahara.

the best that can be hoped for is a cordial arrangement whereby the Cabinet Secretary pretends to listen to the PM’s opinion before going away and doing exactly what he pleases.

POLITICIANS must always be prepared for complete strangers to come up to them in the street and hurl insults. Best thing to do is smile broadly and thank them for their advice.

If you really want to get something done, forget MPs and ministers. the people with the true power are a group of 20-something women: the private secretaries. they are the ones doing the work while everyone else does the shouting. even the permanent secretaries respect them — which is saying something.