From the diary of Carrie Johnson, wife of the prime minister:
I MIGHT be with a Tory, but I’m a radical. He may clap away, but I believe we should replace the monarchy with a vibrant dynamic US-style First Lady.
We need a head of state, people say. For visiting dignitaries, for high-profile summits, to express the national mood on key occasions. And I say ‘voila’.
The model looks of a classy Melania Trump; the moral courage of a white Michelle Obama. I’ve got both, wrapped up in English rose and being the best PR of my generation.
Look at the G7 summit. My dress was a sensation, it was going incredibly, the US network cameras adored me. Then old Queenie and her living-on-carers’-allowance son turn up and everything grinds to a halt.
‘It’s only because of the Commonwealth that Trudeau spent all night chatting to Charles,’ I told Big Dog. ‘He was desperate to talk to me.’
‘I bet he fucking was,’ he said, pouring himself a Dubonnet and gin. ‘Horndog. You know his dad married a 22-year-old when he was prime minister? Beats even me.’
‘Should we get rid of them? The Royals, I mean. They do confuse the branding. And Kate’s really showing her age.’
‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘They fucked up losing Meghan. Proper box-set hot, though she’s boringly global-compassion-communities. ‘So am I,’ I said. ‘Mm,’ he said.
‘Anyway it’s not that simple,’ he said. ‘British public like them. Not sure you’ve really made the Diana breakthrough yet, afraid to say. It’ll come.’
‘And I am prettier than Kate?’ ‘Much prettier,’ he said. ‘And much less of a bitch. By the way, if she mentions it this weekend, I never slapped Pippa’s arse.’
