'I always thought I'd have to quit because I'd been caught f**king someone'

I NEVER thought it would end like this. In my head, after I’d led Britain roaring back to imperial glory, I have to quit because I’ve been caught f**king someone. 

That’s how it played out in my head. I’m on the podium, announcing that Ireland is now Britain again to the cheers of millions, and then a nervous little aide’s plucking at my sleeve.

I ignore him, drinking in the adulation of the crowd. But he doesn’t go away. ‘Sir’, he says. ‘Prime minister. Sir, I’m afraid there’s bad news on the internet. And a video.’ The blood drains from my face.

I’m shown to the Whitehall situation room, where red-hot footage of myself in coitus with a young, beautiful woman who is not my wife is playing on a screen the size of a wall. ‘I’ve never even met her!’ I splutter. The Boris on the wall f**ks on.

Who is the woman? That changes. The wife of an oligarch, the daughter of a Cabinet minister, Margot Robbie or simply that Telegraph journalist with the unfeasibly posh name, Sophia Money-Coutts. Either way Big Dog’s been caught with his knob in it again.

After that it progresses quickly. I lie to the House. Another girl comes out. I’m facing a no-confidence vote. A third girl appears with my ninth baby. The government collapses and divorce papers are filed. I resign in disgrace.

But crucially, for the right reason. Not for some stupid party. For what was always fated to bring Boris down: his unquenchable lust. I would go out as the cocksman prime minister I always knew I could be.

So I ask my fellow MPs: hang on. I’ll ride out inflation and the local elections. Once I’m exposed hanging out the back of Lady Kitty Spencer, send your letters in. Once the Johnson’s gone out a hero.

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Are you punishing yourself enough this January?

WE’RE halfway through a month of gruelling self-improvement, from temperance to exercise to chugging oat milk. But are you hurting yourself enough? 


January is about tearing your body from the excesses of Christmas to full abstinence from all pleasure. Any consumption beyond the water and sawdust diet of Veganuary is forbidden. If you haven’t stopped smoking, because you didn’t smoke originally, start then stop. Same for hard drugs.


The self-evident logic of ‘no pain no gain’ means that if you’re not in pain you’re loafing. Get a treadmill fitted in the shower and oars in the loo. Buy a second heath tracking watch, to monitor the health of the first watch just in case it can’t keep up with you and quits. Be in agony.

Be full of mind

A healthy body deserves a healthy mind. To get there, sanctimoniously zen power-meditate every questionable element of your personality away to the point of not having anything left. Stare in the mirror and see a perfect blank without wants or desires, as January deserves.

Obsessively declutter

A clutter-free life opens more space within your clutter-free mind, so Marie Kondo the shit out of every item you’ve ever owned. Label, categorise, and catalogue everything. Dispose of all those useless fripperies, keepsakes, friends, pets, partners and furniture. You don’t need anything to be who you really are.

Document your journey

Vlog every miserable microsecond of your self-improvement crusade. At some point Channel 5 will be doing documentaries on freaks like you and you can cash in. What viewing it’ll make on a cold February night when you’ve dropped all this self-improvement bollocks: you, a litre of gin, a bucket of chicken and a bowl of cake batter.