Why not fine my baby too, you pig bastards? Why not criminalise my poor, poor baby?

From the diary of Carrie Johnson, Britain’s First Lady

THE protesters are right: all coppers are bastards. And now, because the Met Police is institutionally misogynist, I’m a criminal.

Fined. Fined £50. They fined students twice that. They fined lonely pensioners meeting their friends on the allotment 10 times that. This makes me look cheap.

But more than that it’s the sheer injustice. Like Occupy London, like the Suffragettes, like the Tolpuddle Martyrs, I dared stand up for what I believed in. And, just as then, the police acted beyond the law in to crush my rebellious innocence.

Why not fine my four-month-old baby Romy, you unfeeling, autocratic bastards? Why not hit Wilfred, a mewling babe in arms, with a fine? I’m surprised you haven’t forced us to re-enact the whole thing so you can steam in with mounted police and batons.

Well this abuse of power ends here. I will stand up for the fucking cause. I am not just a key member of the most important government since Disraeli. I am an activist: for women’s rights, for trans rights, for climate action.

The Met have gone too far. This is an intergenerational battle and I stand ready to be a non-political figurehead behind whom the young can unite. Who better? I’m woke, photogenic and my achievements speak for themselves.

I will not pay this fine. Martin Luther King wouldn’t, so why should I? The prejudice and victimisation of our corrupt police will not go unchallenged, even if I have to take my contemporary-boho blonde locks to the Supreme Court.

‘I don’t remember,’ I shall proclaim, ‘a ban on birthday festivities. I don’t recall any prohibition against work meetings. I must have been absent when the State ruled against being human.’

Vilified by the press, I will rally millions behind me. The bias, snobbery and bigotry that have led to this miscarriage of justice will be laid bare. The Establishment will crumble before my righteousness. This fine will be overturned.

Big Dog and Rishi got fined as well. I’ve told him to pay up. He’s guilty as sin.

How to cook the perfect romantic meal, with Colin the emotionally unstable chef

There’s no better way to impress a lady than a romantic meal for two. Unless they’re sadistically playing with your feelings like a cat toys with a mouse, before ripping your heart out like some evil succubus from Hell.

But that might not happen so here are some of my favourite recipes for when love is in the air.

Fillet steak and thick chips with chilli butter

Fry the steak for no more than 3¼ minutes for medium rare, serve with chilli butter for something slightly different, and any date will be impressed. Unless they’re just leading you on, eh, Rachel? If you want a free meal, go to a fucking food bank. Or get a sugar daddy. I’ve never understood that set-up. Do you have to fuck them? That would never do.

Tagliatelle with chicken meatballs

With a ragu or homemade pesto, chicken meatballs make a wonderful change from beef or pork. Or if you’re an unadventurous peasant – not naming any names, but it’s obviously you, Clare – you might instead go, ‘Eurgh – chicken meatballs? That’s just WEIRD!’

No, Clare, finding an alien in your loft is weird. Chicken and the concept of meatballs really aren’t weird at all. I guess I dodged a bullet with Clare, but that’s cold comfort when you’re sitting alone on the sofa at midnight, wanking and eating cold chicken balls.

Warm lobster and potato salad with truffled mayonnaise

There’s a fair bit of preparation involved – be prepared to make mayonnaise from scratch, make sure you have truffle oil and learn how to remove the meat from a lobster. It’s all of Saturday, really, and when you’ve basically put in six hours of unpaid work, that’s the perfect moment to say ‘I like you as a friend, Colin’, isn’t it, Suzanne? For fuck’s sake.

Oysters with lemon and tabasco

The pinnacle of romantic food. You don’t get much better than this simple yet sophisticated classic, unless your name is Caitlin and you squeal in horror like a fucking idiot and refuse to even try them because they’re ‘slimy’ and ‘disgusting’. Jesus wept. I bet you’re not so prissy with that arsehole Gavin you’re seeing now, not that I imagine you having sex or anything. No. I’ve definitely never done that.

Spaghetti with creamy mushroom sauce

A tasty but safe choice of food you really can’t go wrong with. Shame about the rest of the evening. Just for the record, Eva, I did NOT say there’d be other people there, and it is NOT ‘hilarious’ that I might be romantically interested in you. Why stop there? Why not cut off my balls and make me wear a red nose and giant shoes, since you already think I’m Colin the Eunuch Clown?

Bovril on toast

If you’re going to get your cod mornay thrown back in your face without so much as a snog, cut your losses and serve cheap white bread with a viscous layer of concentrated boiled cow. It’s laughable when you think about it, making pan-fried sea bass with a perfectly balanced lemon and chili dressing when our evolutionary mission is simply to mate and breed like beasts.

No, I’m not going through this ridiculous charade of cooking veal Milanese for ‘dates’ anymore. I’m going to become a lonely, bitter, masturbating hermit and keep my dignity intact.