The Daily Blether

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The Secret Diary of Boris Johnson Aged 13¾



One Antiquarian Book collector got more than he bargained for when he paid just £2.50 for a box of old books and jotters in an Oxfordshire antique shop, for there nestling at the bottom of the box was an old copybook, and inscribed on the front was – The Secret Diary of Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson Aged 13¾.

The Daily Blether has now successfully acquired exclusive rights to serialise extracts of the young teenage PM’s time at Eton College.


Michaelmas Term 1977

Wednesday September 7th

What beastly rotten luck and a stinky way to start the new term. Been stuck in detention writing lines all afternoon after girly swot Cameron squealed on me to Quench.  And just because I raided some tuck from Osborne’s study. And anyway I didn’t… and the cake he had from home was no bigger than 5p piece… and it tasted horrible… and I didn’t even eat it anyway. But I shall get Cameron back one day. Just you wait and see. One day I shall be Prime Minister of this great country and then I’ll show the oily stuck-up tick.

Friday September 23rd

12 Noon. The Infamous Five are going to Windsor for a slap-up feast, however I’m flat broke. But not to worry, I shall lie through my teeth and tell Osborne that Pater has sent me a postal order, tap him up for two pounds and fib that I will pay him back on Tuesday when I cash the PO. It really doesn’t matter that there is no PO anyway. I shall just stammer, lie, bluster and bluff may way out of it. The fellows are so gullible and love my lovable clown act. They’ll do anything for me.

6.00 pm Beasts! Osborne wouldn’t lend me any money because he said I owe him £6.50 already. So I had to stay behind and have some stinking slops from the school kitchen. Luckily as the fellows were in Windsor I had their helpings but they were horrible, not to mention jolly meagre too, and I should have starved to death had I not found a Fortnum’s hamper in Cameron’s study. The joint of ham, box of truffles and tin of biscuits just about filled a hole but were of somewhat poor quality if I’m being honest. They have just about kept me going until six-thirty when I’ll have to have more bloody slops from the refectory.  I hate Eton!

Saturday October 1st

Those horrible ticks, The Infamous Five, don’t much care for me so it seems. Their ringleader, Cameron, made an ass of me in the dorm last night when he sneaked up after lights-out in the pitch darkness and punctured my hot water bottle with a bamboo stick tipped with a darning needle.

I had been sound asleep having a splendid dream where i was an emperor giving the thumbs-down to Cameron who had just lost a fight in the Colosseum when the water sopping around in my bed woke me up. Naturally I shouted out and Quench came in and he wasn’t best pleased asking what on earth all the commotion was about.

The other rotters were saying things like: ‘Sir, sir… please sir, Johnson’s peed the bed, sir,’ and calling me things like pissy pants. Oh how i wish I was back home at Johnson Towers with all my toys and lots of jelly and ice cream.

Monday October 3rd

Got in a spot of hot water today after touching-up Matron when I went for my School Medical.

Well, I mean how was I to know what the score was? When she told me to drop my keks and grabbed a hold of (not so) little Boris I thought Wah-hey! a nod’s as good a wink to a randy schoolboy, what?

Old Matey has rather a fulsome bust so quick as a flash I just steamed right in there and grabbed myself a decent handful. You certainly don’t get many of those to the pound I can tell you. Hahaha!

But turns out she was being a bit of a tease which is rather a shame because instead of responding compliantly she gave me a jolly good cuffing around the ear; although I must admit I did quite like in a confusing sort of raging-bag-of-hormones way, the oddly pleasant feeling her punch gave me, and what’s more, I certainly enjoyed the overall sensory experience, not to mention the disinfectant smell and the rustling of her freshly starched blue uniform whistling past my ear as she biffed me.

I’ve been reported to old Quench who has told me to present myself at his study at 4.30. However I shall just deny the allegation, or better still say I don’t recall the incident, so Mum’s the word dear diary.

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