'You seem to have made a blonde a lady?' I say. 'That was no lady, that was my – actually better not,' Boris replies

From the diaries of Carrie Johnson, on maternity leave from being Britain’s First Lady 

I REMEMBER Charlotte Owen, or do I? Interchangeable Home Counties blonde? Now mysteriously a peer for life aged 30 or possibly 29? ‘Explain,’ I say. 

‘It’s not what you think,’ he says, which is interesting given that in this particular case I’m not entirely sure what I think. With Big Dog it’s usually the one thing, but apparently this might be not that but its consequences three decades on.

‘She’s a very capable special adviser,’ he says, still in his jogging outfit but eyeing the chilled rosé, ‘and nothing more. I certainly haven’t been alone with her and wouldn’t be,’ he says indignantly.

Marriage to Boris involves challenges. For example here am I, hugely pregnant, baffled as to whether this fucking girl’s his daughter or he’s using the rumour to distract from a much more traditional relationship. All the years of our love and I still can’t tell.

This is on top of him being jobless, Dorries on the phone all hours slurring ‘Take my seat, please, it’s all I ever wanted,’ and Lady Bamford, disappointed not to be Dame Lady Bamford, hinting at eviction.

‘So you didn’t?’ I say. ‘Definitely not and never would,’ he says, opening a pre-mixed gin. ‘Oh. Thought this was my energy drink.’ ‘So she’s your daughter?’ ‘Certainly not.’

‘Because if she’s not your daughter, then–’    ‘Good-looking girl though,’ he pivots. ‘Wanted a piece of the Big Dog. But the Dog wasn’t hungry thanks to you darling, so it’s fine.’

‘Then why in fuck is she the youngest life peer in British history?’ I say, knowing there’s a lie here but unable to find the exact angle. ‘She asked,’ he said, draining the can.

Sign up now to get
The Daily Mash
free Headlines email – every weekday

Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

You’re seeing Barbie and Oppenheimer on the same day, but you can’t decide whether to see the depressing indictment of man’s self-destructive hubris first, or Oppenheimer.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Vapes need a rebrand to get cool. Let’s see Audrey Tautou puffing clouds into the Parisian sky out of a Banoffee Pie ElfBar.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

The Vision Pro doesn’t sound like an Apple product. It sounds like the Apple knock-off priced £16 in the queue at TK Maxx.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

I’m on the seagull diet. Every time I ‘see’ a ‘gull’ I smash my face into the chips you’re holding.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Professions where it isn’t an advantage to be nicknamed ‘Shaky’: surgeon, pilot, artist, and, ultimately, pop star.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

Nature abhors a vacuum, especially dogs.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

For just £10 a month, you could sponsor a corporate wanker to buy himself one pint in central London. I don’t know why you would, but you could.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

It’s not really fair that Friends Reunited has become such a punchline. You ruined four marriages on there, one your own. Myspace couldn’t manage that.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Watching fish is supposed to be relaxing. Going fishing is supposed to be relaxing. So why is Extreme Fishing with Robson Green such a motherfucking thrill ride?

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Money is no object, particularly now everywhere takes contactless.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

Yeah, but what if AI comes up with new Beatles songs and they’re really good? What are you going to, stubbornly stick to authentic handcrafted Ed Sheeran?

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

In your CV under ‘qualifications’ it just says ‘none – dog on playground’.