My hard, diligent work has fixed Johnson's broken Brexit deal. He tells me I can shove it up my arse

From the diary of Rishi Sunak, Britain’s caretaker prime minister

IT’S taken months of tough negotiation to fix the broken Northern Ireland protocol. Boris doesn’t care. ‘Shove your tawdry compromise up there sideways,’ he suggests. 

‘Compromise,’ he continues, while I frantically signal to an office full of people avoiding eye contact, ‘is for other people. Like rules. Frankly the Protocol bill was only to keep that cretin Liz busy.’ 

‘But,’ I explain while he breathes heavily down the phone, ‘we risk a trade war with the EU if we-’ ‘Exactly,’ he interrupts, reminding me of all the times I explained how Covid works.

‘Who doesn’t love a war?’ he continues. ‘Look at Zelensky. Two years ago he was nothing but the guy on the end of a threatening phone call from Trump. Today’s he’s scoring the finest pussy on the continent and Berlusconi’s up in arms about it. 

‘A trade war is win-win. Brings down inflation because there’s bollock all to buy, gives everyone that patriotic glow, boosts British industry. Liberals say it’ll kill the poor, but I’ve found them to be remarkably resilient.’ 

‘Why are you calling?’ I ask, reframing the discussion to assert dominance. ‘Aren’t you busy with your duties to constituents in Uxbridge and South Ruislip?’ 

‘Fuck those cunts,’ he replies. ‘I never took to that seat. I preferred Henley, it’s much more me. I’ve added the sitting MP on my Honours list and he’s pissing off in return for a peerage. Anyway, you know I’m coming back?’ 

‘Back where?’ In earshot, a Spad giggles. ‘Back to Number Ten,’ Boris says. ‘Unfinished business. Sort Northern Ireland out if you have to, but you’ll get no credit. And you’re not chancellor either. I’ve promised it to Truss so her tax headbangers back me.’ 

I hang up. Truly a glimpse into the kind of derangement that comes with untrammelled access to power. I hope I never go that way. ‘Boris says he must have got cut off but he’ll be back after the May elections,’ the Spad says. 

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Has anyone got any idea where I left my car? with Austin Butler

BAFTA-winning actor Austin Butler, who starred as Elvis in last year’s blockbuster movie, is one of Hollywood’s hottest talents and is unable to find his car. 

Hey, I love visiting the UK. It’s honestly one of my favourite places to be. London’s so vibrant and I want to tread the boards on the West End someday. But for now, does anyone know where the fuck my car is?

Because I was running late when I came to the Baftas – and note I bothered to turn up, unlike plenty of actors – and goddamned if I know where I left the cocksucker.

I wanted to experience your great country for myself, rather than just seeing it from a limo window. So I picked up a Ford Focus at Heathrow, headed to Brighton for fish ’n’ chips by the seashore, and then joined the A23.

We were kind of a convoy heading up there, Colin Farrell in his Hyundai Tuscon and Cate Blanchett in a nippy VW Golf, but then I admit I sorta lost them in central London and suddenly there’s nowhere to park.

Bill Nighy, who’s a real great guy, told me there was a dusty piece of waste ground run by a menacing Albanian dude with a Doberman down the road where I could park overnight for £20, so I was headed there when I saw a real beaut of a spot down a side street.

I pulled up, locked up and hauled ass to the event. Made it in time even though I’d sweated through my custom Alexander McQueen tuxedo, and won Best Actor. Thanks a bunch for that.

Stayed for drinks, Florence Pugh telling me all about the Nissan Cube she’d left in a buddy’s parking space in Battersea, and Martin McDonagh waxing lyrical about his Kia Sportage, and well, I guess I just clean forgot where I left my motherfucking vehicle.

Winning was a real career highlight, but the ceremony was last Sunday and I’ve been wandering aimlessly through south London ever since. The rental charges are stacking up and I can’t even remember if it was moondust silver or desert island blue.

At this stage I might miss The Oscars. So if any of you good people know where my car is, I’d really appreciate it. Please reach out to my agent James at William Morris Endeavour. God bless y’all.