These extracts cover the days immediately after Theresa May became Prime Minister in July 2016. Bumbling Boris was still reeling from having to withdraw from the leadership election after losing the support of his long time ally, Michael Gove. It appears he may have taken some comfort in drink as his career hopes were dashed. Redemption, when it came, took him completely by surprise.
Rough as a badger’s bazooka this morning… just woken up. What was I drinking last night? What was I celebrating? Vague recollection of being in Number 10 and Theresa lecturing me about having to knuckle down now and stop insulting foreigners…why was she doing that…like I was a naughty schoolboy. Pompous prig… acting like the head teacher now she’s PM. Never liked the woman.
Oh my head… I don’t what I was celebrating but it must have been good. Theresa said something about me doing an important job…whiff whaffed if I can remember what it was… probably rousing the party faithful with some of my charisma… all I’m good for now I suppose. Shouldn’t have trusted Gove. Mea Culpa. Mea Culpa
Oh my word! That Laura Kuenssberg woman from the BBC just phoned me… asked what it was like being Foreign Secretary… how should I know I said… then there was strange pause and she laughed, somewhat unconvincingly. “What will be your main priorities,” she asked. “Get back into bed and sleep of this hangover… now stop annoying me.”
“Oh Boris,” she said. “You’re such a character.”
Anyway, it went on like that for a bit… all very confusing, but… long story short… turns out I’m Foreign Fruit-caking Secretary… it eventually started coming back once Kuenssberg phoned… that’s what I was celebrating last night… that’s why I was in Number 10… why Theresa was being all head mistressy…
Foreign Secretary… didn’t see that baby coming… but I have to admit I’ve always admired Theresa… wonderful woman and such a good judge of character… anyway, suppose I better sober up… you never know, I might have to actually do something.
Oh joy! How my cup runneth over… just had a shower to get rid of all the cycle sweat I build up… particularly bad around the armpits… anyway, just thinking things couldn’t’ get much better when I switch on the radio and hear backstabber Gove has got the sack… oh Theresa you little beauty… I think I might fall in love with you.
Just spent 10 minutes looking for my blasted cycle helmet… couldn’t find my bike either… not to worry… turns out the pub landlord wouldn’t let me ride it home because I was so jaxied… he put me in a taxi instead… wonderful man… a true gem of the British working class… the kind of man we need to save from Europe… I shall repay his kindness by releasing him from Angela Merkel’s clutches.
Anyway, don’t need the bike anymore… got a shiny chauffeur driven car… well there has to be some perks to the job… a wonderful British Jag… up yours BMW!
Wonder if they’ll let me sit in the front seat.
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