Why higher taxes are actually really fun and cool, by Rishi Sunak

HAVEN’T got two pennies to rub together? Worried about paying higher taxes? Let me, Rishi Sunak, explain why forking out a fortune you don’t have is actually really fun and cool.

Everyone’s going to be doing it

Paying higher taxes isn’t some obscure hobby that only anorak-wearing weirdos indulge in like trainspotting or stamp collecting. Everyone’s going to be digging deep for the next few years meaning it’s going to be bigger than Taylor Swift. You don’t want to be a loser who misses out on this hot new trend, do you? Didn’t think so.

They’ll pay for really nifty things

Not boring old public services like libraries or free dentistry. Dare to dream a bit bigger. Your taxes will go towards the salary I don’t need and repairing my party’s public image after my predecessors shat all over it. Not even speed boats for everyone in the UK would be as awesomesauce as that.

Filling the black hole sounds rad

I get it. ‘Balancing the books’ has an ominous air about it. That’s why I’m trying to rebrand the fiscal crisis we’ve found ourselves in as a black hole. Think of yourself as an intrepid astronaut as you try to fill the yawning void threatening to swallow the country. It’s much more palatable than the reality that you’re going to be skint until you’re dead.

You’ll feel like an underdog rebel

This country loves an underdog, and when you’re pissing away the bulk of your pay packet each month on taxes that’s exactly what you’ll feel like. Don’t think of higher taxes as a symptom of needless, grinding austerity, reframe them as the antagonist you’re training hard to overcome, like in Rocky. You’re essentially Sylvester Stallone, who is certifiably cool.

Paying them won’t take any effort

Leave it with me. I’ll take care of all the paperwork and numbers just like I did when I threw you some spare change during lockdown. All you have to do is work five jobs, sacrifice the concept of free time and learn to live on three hours sleep. You’ll get nothing to show for it in return but I might be able to win the next election. Thanks in advance!

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Welcome to my mid-life crisis, by Matt Hancock

GOOD day, Britain. I’m Matt Hancock, your former health secretary, and I’d like you all to attend my mid-life crisis.

Yes, when male politicians reach a certain age – I’m 44 but my hair’s receding – they suffer the same worries as any man. Where’s my sports car? Can I get a younger girlfriend? Could I still forge a career as an international DJ?

And, after guiding you all through the Covid crisis safe and sound, give or take a couple of hundred thousand, then being filmed going at my intern like a £100 Dualit coffee grinder, I felt I deserved a classic crisis.

I’ve left the wife and kids. Done. I’m with a new bird and gush on about how in love we are unstoppably and insensitively, given the wife and kids. Done.

I’ve given up my ambitions for my old career. All my old workmates avoid me and Rishi wouldn’t even throw the Mattster a handshake. Done. So what’s next?

Well, remember the daily briefings? Their ratings? It wasn’t Whitty that had the nation rapt. I’m TV catnip. I’m going in there, baring my soul, flirting with the girl from Love Island, forming an unexpectedly strong bond with Boy George and yes, eating exotic anus.

This is the relaunch. This is the new me. The nation will see my sleeve tattoos, hear me playing my self-penned tracks on guitar, listen to my philosophies. I’ll easy be King of the Jungle. Gina and Matt will be the new Katie and Peter.

It’s going to be the greatest mid-life crisis of all time, and I’ll be doing it in front of the whole country. Tune in, Britain. You’re about to find out who the Mack Daddy is. The Matt Daddy. Matt. Me. Does that work?