Friday, 28th February 2020

The secret normal life of Jacob Rees-Mogg

SALVE! That’s latin for ‘hello’, but of course my ridiculous 18th century toff persona is just for gullible Brexiters. Here’s what life in the Rees-Mogg household is really like.

8.00am. Get up.

Shower, shit and a shave, then I decide which of my large collection of tracksuits to wear. The double-breasted suits are just to impress the voters, or as I like to call them, ‘morons’.

9.00am. Breakfast.

You’d assume I’d have a traditional English breakfast, but I am incredibly rich so I can have whatever I want, maybe a lobster. It’s a bit self-indulgent but I can burn it off later in my high-tech gym.

10am-11.30am. Manage hedge fund and some Playstation

Hedge funds are fucking easy to manage - that’s why so many posh idiots do it - which leaves time for a session on the PS4. I’ve been a hardcore gamer for years, but that shouldn’t surprise anyone when you think how I look. 

By the way, I do swear. I’m a grown man aged 49, which is not even that old, but the ‘MP for the 18th century’ stuff plays well with the punters.

12pm. Set off for the Commons

This necessitates a change into the aforementioned double-breasted suit or some tweedy nonsense. Leave voters and the coffin dodgers in my constituency party love it. In my limo I’ll look up some latin phrases on the internet and read a bit of Tom Brown’s School Days. By the time we arrive at parliament I’m completely ‘in character’.

2pm. Political ‘work’

I always like to cause a bit of trouble for May and promote Brexit on Channel 4, but overall I see it as more of a PR exercise on behalf of me. If there’s one person I truly admire it’s Kim Kardashian. She really knows how to monetise a personal brand.

6pm. Back home for a go on the quad bike

After a busy day I like to unwind by having six or seven cans of lager and racing around my estate on my quad bike, telling anyone who complains about the noise to fuck off.

11pm. Bedtime

My wife and I enjoy a healthy sex life, although recently I’ve been plagued by fantasies about Eliza Doolittle and Nancy from Oliver Twist. I can’t think why.