David knocked on the door of number 15.

"Hello, does Natalie live here?" he asked the woman when the door opened.

"No, sorry," she replied. She looked at him for a minute. "Hang on . . . oh my God, it's the bleedin' Prime Minister!"

"Yes, um . . . new policy. I'm trying to get around to everyone before New Year's. Merry Christmas. Sorry this year's been – "

The woman interrupted him. "But it's funny, you know? 'Cos last year, we met Harriet Jones! Rose, come here!" A blonde girl who looked to be about twenty put her head around the corner.

"What, mum?" she asked.

"Look, Rose, it's the Prime Minister! That's two Christmases in a row that we've met the Prime Minister!"

David stood there, feeling very uncomfortable.

"Hello," said the girl. "Sorry about mum, she's a bit . . ." she mimed drinking something out of a glass.

"Ah," said David. "Merry Christmas. I'll go now. Goodbye."

"Bye!" said the girl.