From the diaries of Carrie Johnson, Britain’s First Lady:
INNATE, incorruptible moral authority. Already in the orbit of Downing Street. Independent from the office of prime minister. Opportunity, meet Carrie.
Look at the evidence. Since we first met I’ve kept him straight and honest, so flawless moral guidance is already in place. Admittedly he doesn’t follow it consistently.
Ethical living? That’s my whole reason for being. That’s my sole focus, day after day, setting an ethical example to the young people of Britain. Showing them how to tread lightly on our fragile earth.
And independent? Anyone who’s heard me going at him after another one of his idiocies – there was a tape you may remember, I felt I came across exceptionally well – knows that I don’t blindly take his side. I am very much my own woman.
Slam dunk. I presented my case. ‘Fuck all that,’ Big Dog said. ‘Ethics are for Aristotle.’
‘Look at the Romans,’ he continued. ‘Dropped all that ethics shit. Conquered the known world. Only collapsed when they turned Christian. Ethics get in the way.’
‘What about my green living net zero initiative outreach?’ I said. ‘That’s at the heart of everything we do as a government and a couple?’
‘Not doing me any fucking good in the polls,’ he said. ‘Neither was Geidt. Who did he think he was, judging me?’
‘I didn’t like him,’ I said. ‘When he came round about the wallpaper? He winced when I told him it was £840 a roll. Like I was noveau riche.’
‘See?’ he said, taking a quick swig of Pimms straight from the jug. ‘Better off without one. It’s like when Marina installed nannycams. All they can do is get you in trouble.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘but it pays £140k a year.’ ‘You’re perfect for it,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the paperwork through for Monday.’
