I receive a letter from that dreadful old Commissar, John McDonnel, the Shadow Chancellor and MP for the Finland Station. He says Sajid Javid, my Chancellor, is a brazen bounder who was responsible for the global recession of 2008 all by himself, while helping sound chaps (including some very good friends of mine, I might add) get a decent return on their money without Gordon “the Gurner” Brown taking half of it to spaff on hospitals, old people, that sort of bollocks.
Normally I’d take no notice but what if it’s true? The Saj, as he insists on being called, is a rum sort at the best of times. His idea of giving a girl a good time is to read the trial scene from The Fountainhead to her: one of those strange religious tracts written by Ayn Rand. Indeed, his wife only agreed to marry him if he swore he would never read it to her again. So apparently he reads it to himself, all alone, right through Ramadan.
I shall have to keep a weather eye on the Saj and make sure he knows his place, which is basically to shut up and smile whenever I promise to spend a lot of money.
Which my old chum Barbara Windsor wants me to do. “Darling Boris” she said, out of Carrie’s earshot – “Darling Boris, I’m going a little gaga you know, so you have to help me out by spending lots of lovely money on health services for people with Alzheimer’s.”
Well of course I promise I will, in fact, I resolve immediately to spaff several billion pounds on twenty hospitals and a whole lot more on the geriatric wing of the Tory party, which is basically the whole caboodle.
Just hope I can do it without gurning.
Pyramid of Piffle 