From the diary of Carrie Johnson, Britain’s first lady
THEY love him in Ukraine. They say ‘thank you Boris’ and ‘God save the Queen’ when they blow up tanks. But can they vote for him? Can they fuck.
Even if they came over en masse – which Rishi’s keen on, the economy needs bottom-feeders – we wouldn’t let them vote for five years. What good’s that? He needs fresh Tories now.
So now he’s made Sweden and Finland promises we have no intention of keeping, he’s withdrawing from the whole international-statesman-leading-the-war-effort thing.
As he said: ‘What’s the point if none it’s doing me any good at the polls? Zelensky point-blank refused to provide a video endorsement. He can stick with fucking Bono.’
‘I tell you what kept Churchill going,’ he continued, pouring himself a small Akvavit from the bottle he was meant to give Prince Charles. ‘Gratitude. The support of the people. No fucking elections.’
‘It is dragging on a bit,’ I admitted. ‘In an autumn election we need quick wins, not getting bogged down in a whole back-and-forth over Donbas.’ ‘Exactly,’ he said, coughing and eyeing the Akvavit suspiciously.
‘So we’re ready to do something on my issues?’ I said. Being Downing Street’s only millennial is a heavy responsibility. And though my amends weren’t in the Queen’s Speech – apparently there was a mix-up with drafts – I think I’m moving the needle.
‘What were they again?’ he said. ‘The green thing?’ ‘Carbon net zero,’ I said, again. ‘Taking the global lead on conservation. Really turning things around on trans rights.’
‘Yeah not so much,’ he said. ‘The cost of living crisis?’ I said. ‘No chance,’ he said. ‘The poor need a bit of market correction.’ ‘What then?’ I said.
‘We’re going to pick a massive fight with the EU on Northern Ireland,’ he said. ‘While they’re distracted with this Ukraine shit. Really make it work for us.’ And knocked back his third Akvavit.
