It was Harriet's big day and it had begun badly. She'd woken up feeling under siege, for she'd had a nightmare that men were out to get her (Gordon Brown, William Hague, they were all the same really). “Jack,” she said to her husband, “men are a nightmare.”

Jack nodded. It was Harriet's big day. He was going to watch her stand in for Gordo at PMQs. He wanted her to stay calm. Then they both heard a noise on the roof. “Pigeons?” asked Jack. But Harriet, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, knew that noise. “Men!” she cried. She was right: Fathers4Justice were on her roof.

But she was not going let men (hiss) ruin her day. All morning she worked hard on her jokes (she thought they were funny, if others didn't, then they were probably men). By noon, she was feeling prime ministerial as she sat down and looked across to see ... William Hague! A man! How very typical of the Tories.

William asked a question about banking chaos that Harriet ducked. At this, he protested: “If she wants to be prime minister she'd better start acting like one.”

A pantomime “Oooohhhhhh” filled the air. Harriet didn't look too outraged but, next to her, Alistair Darling was actually shaking with laughter. Harriet noted this. She wasn't surprised. He may be a comrade but, in the end, he was a man.

Then she spotted Theresa May, her Shadow Tory sister. This made her angry all over again. Why couldn't Theresa ask her questions? “You should give up on the Tory party,” Harriet scolded, “go across Lambeth bridge to Lambeth Palace and apply to become a bishop!”

Mr Hague, treading gingerly for this was clearly a landmine situation, asked about Gordon Brown's new food policy of “waste not, want not”. Harriet pounced. She had a joke that she had prepared earlier (for, like all women, she was thrifty). Why, she wondered, would the Prime Minister seek dietary advice from somebody who thinks that a good diet is 18 pints a day!

A joke! The chamber burst into laughter. Harriet was having fun now. Mr Hague noted wryly: “None of that was ever wasted, I can assure you!”

Harriet was almost home and dry but Mr 18 Pints was on a roll: “Isn't there something supremely ironic about being lectured about food waste from a Prime Minister who is past his own sell-by date? May I wish her well in her campaign to be rid of him?”

Her campaign? Harriet tried hard not to look chuffed. She defended Gordo as a man of “true grit”. This seemed strange, as if the PM was something very irritating in our eye.

Incredibly, she now turned to the subject of her own coup. “I thank you for your kind comments but I'm afraid it wouldn't be possible because there aren't enough airports in the country for all the men who'd want to flee the country.”

MPs burst into laughter. Harriet made a little grimace. Suddenly I had a vision of Gordon, Alistair, William, Dave, Nick et al, racing like mad around the M25, heading for Heathrow.

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