From the diary of Rishi Sunak, the prime minister taking unprecedented legal action against his own public inquiry
‘AS lockdown fell across the country, the atmosphere in Downing Street was febrile, fertile and charged with lust,’ I read. ‘Good, eh?’ says Boris.
‘These aren’t your notes from the time,’ I say. ‘I didn’t take any notes at the time,’ Boris says. ‘Yes you did,’ I say. ‘I was drawing tits,’ he says, ‘of which this is a rough translation.’
I’m in Moldova. He’s in Britain. We got the diaries yesterday and there’s no way we can hand them to Lady Hallett. ‘First time I’ve met a deadline in my life,’ he says. ‘With help.
‘Nadine did them bloody fast for doing them one-handed. Let her imagination fly free. You can’t actually swing on my cock, I regret to say, but suspend your disbelief and chapter 19’s one hell of a wank. Have you got to the bits with you in?’
Given that what I’ve seen of The Johnson Pandemic Diaries so far – to be published by HarperCollins, according to the first page – I’m not sure I want to be in it. So far I’ve read through three tender love scenes and nine hardcore sex scenes.
I’m a cosmopolitan gentleman. I’m familiar with the exploits of one Rupert Campbell-Black. At sixth-form I was called the Southampton Stallion. The words I have read in these diaries horrify me.
‘I never did that,’ I say. ‘I’m never alone in the same room with Raab.’ ‘Raab said you did,’ says Boris. ‘Or was that Hancock? Who is it he brands with ‘LOSER’ across their arse in chapter nine?
‘It was my idea to open with that famous ministerial office blowjob, as a prelude to the whole pandemic era of strictly marital blowjobs. That’s what I remember from lockdown anyway, that and the parties.’
‘I can’t give these to a public inquiry,’ I said. ‘Well that’s you as fucked as the heroine is in chapters 30-34 inclusive, isn’t it?’ Boris says.
