From the diary of Rishi Sunak, Britain’s most enabling prime minister
MESSIANIC delusions I’m fine with – this time last week, I was hanging with Elon – but surely you need more of a record of achievement than Suella’s got.
She was a bloody awful attorney general, a home secretary who can’t stop the boats she’s obsessed with who’s already survived one firing, and quite frankly she’s a cretin. But, in an aspirational example to all, she doesn’t let that stop her.
‘By 2025 I will be leading the Conservatives,’ she says, ‘and leading them into glory. Embracing our traditional values. Sealing the borders. Abolishing corporation tax and employment rights. Embraced by the British people.’
‘That, ah, hasn’t exactly happened so far,’ I venture. Suella does have a fanbase, and credit to them for overcoming their racism in her specific case, but she can’t even rally every GB News viewer.
‘Because you’re holding me back,’ she spits. ‘You wouldn’t let me set fire to the Channel. You won’t authorise nuclear force against Hamas. Sometimes I worry it’s not just rhetoric and you actually think humans have rights.
‘Once I’m out I’m a martyr, like the famous Metric Martyrs who were hung, drawn and quartered by the EU, and I’ll be unstoppable. Tory leader by a landslide. A few years in opposition and I’ll be swept into office with a mandate for war.’
‘Who with?’ I say, surprised by the new bit. I’ve heard all the rest before.
‘That’s not important,’ Suella says, ever the big-picture politician. ‘So,’ she continues, towering over me, ‘are you firing me or fucking what?’