I had a PMQ yesterday. I was number 11 on the order paper which meant my chance of being called was slim; however, no one knows how the Speaker is going to proceed, so one has to be prepared.

Running short of time, I was beginning to panic slightly as I had an 11am meeting with someone at the top of the food chain and didn't want to be late.

At 10.59, just as I was about to put my hand on the door to my meeting room, a flustered young man shouted my name.

"Help", said he, obviously relieved to have found a friendly face.

"I don't have a pass, where is the ministerial conference room I need to be there for 11, I have no idea where it is".

Not being a Minister, neither did I.

I looked through the window of my meeting room, saw my stern host tapping on the table, and then turned and looked at the happy man in front of me.

All boyish with his tousled hair, smiling face and pleading eyes - I looked back at my meeting room. It was no competition, the sunny yet endearing plea won.

"Come on then Boris" said I, "I've got my pass, let's find it." A five minute chatter with the irrepressible Boris, as we ran along, definitely won out.