'Piss off and delete this number, you cheap blonde bra woman!' Oh dear. Baroness Mone's called and my wife picked up

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

I DID moan rather about Baroness Mone during the pandemic, never giving me a minute’s peace and so on. It seemed my wife listened. ‘Are you the bra woman? Piss off.’ 

I gesture for her to hand me the phone. She responds with a gesture from the English vernacular tradition. ‘We all made money from the pandemic, you silly moo, but when you sell my husband bad PPE you’ll pay the price. He is the prime minister now.’

I’m unaccustomed to Akshata being proud of my achievements. She’s a great believer in keeping me humble. She continues, ‘No, it’s nothing to me either but I have real money. I do not get caught with my fingers in the till for a grubby £29 million like a shopgirl.

‘Take your nasty cheap knickers and bras and surgical gowns and stick them up your asshole, you publicity-hungry tramp. I hope they send you and your fat-neck husband to prison. Okay here is Rishi.’

Unsurprisingly Michelle has hung up. I am rather relieved. She reminds me of the women who’d shout at my father over the pharmacy counter about their HRT.

‘Bloody woman,’ says Akshata. ‘Pushy and stupid, a nasty combination. I bet that yacht of hers is upholstered in leopardskin.’

‘She was a nightmare,’ I agree, relieved. ‘It was day and night during the pandemic. Boris never says no to a woman, especially not a woman who has phone numbers of bra models.’

‘Yeah yeah,’ my wife says. She bores easily. It’s one of the things I respect most about her. ‘So you signed the cheques, like a halfwit. Can she drag you into this and ruin you?’

‘No,’ I reply, confident. ‘I was very careful. I never promised her anything on the calls, I never responded to the emails, I only sent the money when I was told to. My hands are clean.’

‘Pity,’ Akshata said. ‘I had hopes we could end this prime minister farce early. Ah well.’

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A confused Millennial tries to… watch a show week-by-week

by Josh Gardner, who buys vinyl but isn’t sure why

I LOVE a big TV show. There’s nothing better than sitting down with the new series of Umbrella Academy for ten hours straight. 

Yeah, you have to write off the next day because you’re knackered and irritable, but it’s so much more immersive. And you’ve no real choice. If you take 11 hours spoilers are all over TikTok.

However, Amazon’s trying this weird new thing where they’re showing new sci-fi must-see Cobalt Winter one episode a week, every Friday. And I’m not afraid of innovation, so I signed up for the ride.

Week one

Fuck’s sake! That was actually good, and it’s over? What, I just have to wonder what happens next, do I? This is bullshit.

The most annoying thing is you have to find something else to do instead of watching the next one. I had a wank, ate a Pop Tart, had another wank, then I was out of ideas so I went to bed early.

Week two

Okay, I now have no idea who any of these people are. Come on. It’s been a whole seven days. But I catch up on the wiki and I’m back into it – briefly. Is Kimmy an android? Seriously, cliffhanger endings are a form of abuse. It’s like a season finale every week.

It’s driving me mad that I’ve got to wait 10,018 minutes to find out. I might have a shower to knock 10 minutes off it. Jesus this is annoying. It’s only 10,017 minutes now, so that’s something.

Week three

There’s a party going on round at Noah’s, but like a junkie jonesing for a fix I’m in front of my laptop trying to find out if the AI controlling Nu-Atlantia is actually an augmented human brain. Thanks a fucking lot, Amazon. If Noah and them are all doing edibles you can stick your high-quality original drama up your corporate arse.

Week four

I keep talking about the show, speculating about what might happen, and my mates are bored with it. ‘Just watch it,’ Sophie said, and I had to explain I can’t. They’ve started mocking me. They call me Mystery Boy.

Anyway, it’s on tonight and the Inheritors are killing all organic lifeforms, Sheldrake got his mind wiped by a combat droid and I’m stressed. Seriously, trauma vibes. I’m going to the GP for tranquilisers. He’d be cool with that, right? Young people’s mental health is a priority, and I’d only be on them till Friday.

Week five

Well that was shit. Everything that happened last week was in Kalia’s bottle universe. If I’d know that I would never have worried, and I wouldn’t have suffered erectile dysfunction I’m pretty sure. The waiting’s ruined my life.

Week six

The absolute bastards. I spent yet another week waiting, and the concluding episode does nothing but set up the next series. Nothing was resolved, I’ve wasted six weeks, and now it’s a year until season two. That’s 259,200 minutes.

It was a brave experiment, even if my dad does claim that’s ‘how all shows used to be’. I’ll stick with binge-watching, thanks, like normal people. Still, it’s only 259,194 minutes if I have a wank and a Pop Tart. May as well get started.