Off to Scotland today to visit our stupendous nuclear submarines at Faslane. These are the chaps who will start World War Three if I so much as sneeze in the direction of “the button”. It is an awesome responsibility and not one to be taken lightly.
I made what I thought was a rather good joke about pointing them at Brussels, but nobody laughed.
Finally move into our Downing Street flat today, having acquired Carrie a key. We are buying new furniture as Carrie says the wine stains, fag burns and deep gouges from kitchen utensils hurled in anger won’t do. Many of you won’t know that ever since “I’m a straight kind of guy” Tony realised next door’s flat was bigger, the PM has bunked down in the Chancellor’s place and the Chancellor at Number 10.
Totally, arse-numbingly knackered, to be honest. Everybody seems to want me to set up meetings with the Germans, French, Irish and what-have-you. “Tell ’em to ficken ze offen” I said, “And take the backstop with them.” Which I thought was rather witty.
They’ll come round in the end. See if they don’t!
Pyramid of Piffle 