Last night I entertained eight handsome men, plus Sam Coates , on the terrace of the House of Commons for Pimms and chatter.

The terrace in summer is one of the joys of my job. On warm days I find a quiet corner and it becomes my office.

The eight handsome men in question  were associated with or from a place in my constituency that I can't talk about.

If I did, obviously I would have to shoot you, or rather they would, as they would be so much better at it than me.

It amazes me how much rank impresses men. They can get a bit carried away by it.

To a woman, rank is usually associated with buying shoes, as in "I'm not buying those shoes they're rank"; but to men it's something quite different.

The only man in a suit and tie that I have heard called Sir, is first in line to the throne. So when I was ordering the drinks last night, and I heard some of my guests addressing others as Sir, well, it did seem a bit odd. Nice, but odd.

Conversation focused on what if Obama becomes President. Will he listen to shrill Pelosi or sound Petreaus?

My guess is that should there be a Democratic victory, the future of Iraq will depend upon the emerging personal relationship between two men. Will Obama trust Petreaus? Will he listen and make his judgments based on the military expertise of a man most people in America must respect?

I was interested to hear how well the Americans are doing in terms of intelligence in Iraq; but as one of the group pointed out, the Americans are pouring billions into intelligence compared to our 20 quid. (Relatively speaking!)

I left last night thinking I knew a bit more about what goes on in secret in my constituency; but realise this morning I know nothing.

Sir is very clever!