In an embarrassing breach of security the details of Boris Johnson’s diary, along with his personal notes have been leaked online. It’s understood that the hunt is now on for the Downing St mole responsible but so far to no avail
21th December Bullingdon Club Class of ’87 Reunion and Secret Santa
Splendid! Rather looking forward to seeing the chaps again. Well all except Cameron of course, but we’re getting a pig’s head laid on so that ought to keep him occupied out the back for most of the night.
Haven’t abused any poor people for a while, what with this One Nation Conservatism piffle Cummings wants me to pretend to be following, so I shall obviously give the restaurant staff hell. It will be fantastic to go on the rampage again as I haven’t been able to smash anything up since that night at Carrie’s flat.
Oh… must get a Secret Santa gift sorted out too. I shall ask HMRC to make out an official letter addressed to Cameron saying we’re prosecuting him for massive tax evasion which should be a lark. I can just imagine his pasty face turning green. Haha!
22nd December Visit to Shelter Hostel
Whomsoever has put this in my diary in the middle of all the fun is going to get a blimmin’ rocket up their bloody backside if I can have them identified. Who wants to go and pretend to be nice to a gang of dirty smelly down-and-outs. Won’t be many laughs to be had there I should say. Don’t they know it’s Christmas?
23rd December Family Dinner
Bloody hope Joe’s not going to be there!! It’s bad enough having to be pleasant to Rachel but one can just about manage that I suppose. One trusts Dad keeps it in check as he’s a bit of an arse when he gets started. Reminds me of someone, some chap or other who’s a real upper class berk, but can’t think of who it might be.
25th December Christmas Day
Phone Mr Trump to make sure he’s given me the day off (very important!!!!)
Looking forward to getting all my presents.
I hope Santa got the note I put up the chimney. I shall enjoy making my fleet of Airfix Routemasters as long as I’m left in peace to get on with it and Putin or someone else doesn’t kick off. Don’t want my lunch buggered up by having to address the plebs and tell them my finger is on the button (I say, what a scary thought that is… my finger hovering over the button… not Putin)
The new siren suit I’ve ordered from Amazon should look splendid and give me an very authentic Churchillian WW2 styling. The mug voters will lap it up whenever I wear it, although I imagine it may look rather silly if I put the homburg on at the same time. Hopefully I shall get used to the cigars eventually.
Watch Her Majesty’s Speech (n.b. find out what time it’s on in case I bump into Andrew Neil before the big day)