What I did in my summer holidays, by Boris Johnson

IT’S a hard job being Prime Minister. You have to be all things to all men, including hospital employee, policeman, hard hat construction worker and fighter pilot.

And I got to be all of them over a summer in which we Brits enjoyed lovely hot weather and the Lionesses wining the Euros, which definitely only happened because the ladies were inspired by my triumphant tenure as prime minister.

But it’s important to remember that it’s not the person that matters, it’s the party. And that took place on July 30th at Baron Bamford’s Cotswold estate to mark the one year anniversary of my marriage to Carrie: my love, my rock, my tacky gold wallpaper chooser.

Anyway, I’ve had a tough year, what with being defenestrated from my own government, so I needed to take some time out to rest, recuperate and bitterly plot the downfall of my erstwhile colleagues, and my eventual return to glorious power.

First we went to Slovenia, which I thought was going to be some kind of ex-communist hellhole, but was actually very beautiful. And also quite cheap, to the satisfaction of whichever Tory donor paid for our stay at the luxury eco-lodge.

Then we popped home for a week or so, but the UK was full of doom and gloom about how people are going to pay the bills on their tedious little houses, so we said ‘Sod this’ and jetted off to Greece. Bloody brilliant. Souvlaki and ouzo all day, like one long party. Not that I like parties, of course.

Eventually Carrie persuaded me to stop dicking about in a giant rubber ring and return to Britain for a few days before Liz Truss nicks my job. The reason? A farewell tour to celebrate my greatest hits, such as hiding in a fridge and lying to the Queen.

I must admit I lost interest after most of it was spent in a field in Dorset with Nadine Dorries, so I went off piste with a weird speech about kettles, which really cemented my legacy as a great political mind, I’m sure.

It’s my last weekend as Big Dog, so I’ll leave you, my loyal subjects, with my personal motto: let the bodies pile high! Oh no, hang on, Carrie said not to use that one. I meant to say, ‘Peppa Pig World is my kind of place’. Not that one either, darling? Oh, f**k it. Bye.

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Interesting conversation

You were once quite good company, with your jokes and moderately original insights into films and politics. But it was tiring and you’ve snared your partner now, so tonight you’ll be having a conversation about which bin day it is tomorrow. It’ll be grindingly dull, but zero effort is required and that’s the main thing.

Good manners

Learn from miserable older couples who long ago stopped saying ‘Sorry I didn’t catch that, darling’ in favour of rudely shouting ‘WHAT?’. Table manners can go too. Stuffing food in your gob like a monkey is fine, along with belching and farting during a meal. You won’t be sitting at the dining table anyway, you’ll be slumped in front of the telly in old boxer shorts that are now more skidmark than cloth.

Sexual experimentation

Sexual adventurousness is considered a good thing, but what about sexual efficiency? After years together you’ll know which buttons to press, or rub, for a speedy orgasm. Taking your socks off is erotic enough. If your partner expects more they clearly have a pathological sex obsession and need psychiatric help.

New clothes

Everyone looks good in a well-fitting dress or brand new menswear. But now you can live in shapeless sweatshirts or an old Def Leppard t-shirt. If you’re married, what’s your partner going to do? Divorce you and traumatise the kids? As if. Slip into your jogging bottoms with unpleasant yellow crotch stains and chill.

Spending time with their friends

Remember feigning interest as your partner’s mate Iain droned on about ‘funny’ things that happen in IT support? Or you had to look sad for Clare who was heartbroken again due to consistently dating narcissistic serial cheaters? It seems so long ago, thank f**k. Now you can just not bother to meet them and hang out with your new friends, the Targaryens. They’re so much more interesting.

Telling the truth

Not so much big lies, eg. ‘I’m definitely not shagging your best friend.’ More the feeble daily lies about stuff you’re going to do but don’t, like cooking a nice dinner or finally assembling that flatpack book case. By now your partner has you down as a useless, unreliable twat and they love you just the same. Maybe ‘love’ is too strong a word. ‘Is too old and fat to find someone new’ is more accurate.

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