Editor’s blog: ‘My Peppa Pig hell’ by Marnie Gwyther, aged 11 months

Yesterday I was forced to do a photo-op with Yvette Cooper (but not Peppa Pig). I cried.

The first thing you’ll probably want to know is why haven’t politicians learned the first rule of campaign photo opportunities – never go anywhere near small kids like me. Or animals. There are known knowns and known knowns when it comes to this activity. And anyway, baby-kissing during elections is sooo 20th century.

It all started on Monday when The Parents get a text from the nursery informing them that Peppa Pig was going to be putting in an appearance together with a couple of senior government ministers – and would they mind us lot being snapped by the paps? (Peppa Pig – as if! Some out-of-work actor dressed up in a pink porcine suit, more like).

Anyway, so yesterday morning we’re all sitting there in a circle, freshly scrubbed, having been carefully vetted for nasty smells in the strides. And in they all march in search of some cheap photo opportunity on safe ground.

Then we hear a rumour that due to copyright issues and a disagreement with the owners of the rights, Peppa won’t be appearing after all. ‘Lol’, I muttered to my mate Septimus (yes, really): ‘The Sun will go to town on this’. (I was right – ‘Pig Deserts Sinking Ship – I’m sick of all their porkies’ was today’s front-page splash.)

So, in Peppa’s absence, the next thing I know I’ve been carried from the playpen outside and plonked down at a table next to these two strange, badly-dressed women with dubious broad smiles. Why they chose me, God knows. I’m a party-loving girl like the best of them, but only have two teeth and am bald as a budgie. Not Pampers ad material.

What with all this prodding and false bonhomie, it wasn’t long before I decided it was time to give the assembled snappers and hacks a few home truths. Can you blame me? Nobody contacted my agent – what about my share of royalties and repeat fees? You can’t just use a kid like this.

The next thing I know, all hell has broken loose and I’m on page 3 of the Evening Standard with the caption. ‘Crying shame: it was every politician’s worst nightmare as Labour MPs Tessa Jowell and Yvette Cooper did their best to comfort a baby on the campaign trail in Waterloo today. But sadly for the two women, it all ended in tears’. Take a look. Those subs at Associated never gave NuLabour an even break at the best of times, and the gloves are really off now.

They say politics has been reduced to a level of juvenile banality, and I have to say I agree. Amid all this Punch and Judy nonsense with the TV debates, just where is the proper discussion about family tax credits, or the reduction in the value of nursery vouchers for higher rate taxpayers? Never mind whether the contagion currently spreading outwards from Greece threatens next Portugal and, eventually, the fiscal stability of the whole EU .

And, at the same time, I’m telling you I’m seriously rethinking my ambition to get a job at Goldman Sachs when I graduate in 2032. Letting a kid down with a Peppa Pig no-show is one thing. But, the ethics of market-making notwithstanding, how on earth you can secretly go short against ‘sh*tty’ mortgage-related securities, when simultaneously flogging them to valued customers, is anyone’s guess. Take it from an 11-month-old who knows a Number Two when she sees one.