From the diary of Rishi Sunak, Britain’s least patient prime minister
‘YOU remember,’ Akshata says, ‘she did it every two weeks. Press conference, Downing Street, everyone expecting she resigns then she says “Vote for my Brexit.”’
‘It’s not like that,’ I snap, not because I’m tetchy but because this line of inquiry is not what the public wants. ‘It’s exactly like that,’ she says, ‘down to where you challenge Labour to vote for it. So desperate.’
‘I was resolute, confident, firm and out of patience,’ I retort. ‘She was in the final stages of an administration that failed to deliver on any of its promises and was beset on all sides by enemies.’ ‘Mm,’ Akshata says.
The truth is I’m testy because it’s been a challenging week. Jenrick gone, the new Rwanda bill attacked, Boris not even having the decency to distract by putting on a show. Instead he’s doing the tears-and-contrition routine to the point I’m surprised he hasn’t claimed the condom broke.
‘We are at that stage,’ my wife continues. ‘The podium out every other week, the rising hope it’s for a resignation, the let-down when it’s a vain attempt to get MPs to back her. Serious late May vibes.
‘You remember? You watched it, cackling at the text from Boris in your little WhatsApp group? When your plan was to take over as chancellor from Zahawi in 2023?’
And, just like that, I’m cast back to happier times. Brexit collapsing, Corbyn in power, forcing lobby journalists to take the Malthouse Compromise seriously, knowing that it was all just nonsense cooked up to destroy a leader so unpopular she’d never win an election.
‘So I… am May?’ I say, haltingly. ‘They hate me as much as they hated her? And Rwanda matters as little as Northern Ireland did?’
‘You are May,’ Akshata says, soothingly. ‘Look how happy she is with it all over. Soon that’s you.’
