From the diary of Rishi Sunak, Britain’s time-serving prime minister
‘JACK of all trades, master of all trades, that’s me!’ chortles Grant, on his appointment to yet another Cabinet post. I don’t correct his mistake.
In truth, I only consider Shapps a safe pair of hands because he can be relied on to do nothing. Whether he’s in a job six days or six months, all he’ll do is schmooze billionaires to set up his post-MP consultancies.
That’s venality you can trust. Not like Tugendhat or Mordaunt. They’re each very popular with the armed forces in their own ways – I’m told the top brass regularly have a tugendhat to photos of Mordaunt – which is the last thing I bloody need.
Six months of competency is enough for a tilt at being leader in this party. I can’t risk it, so it had to be Shapps. But I’m not sure he fully understands my reasoning.
‘It’s not easy being a renaissance man, Rishi,’ he says, expansively, feet on my desk. ‘Watching other people struggle with tasks, knowing you could pick them up and complete them perfectly at the first time of asking.
‘How many different roles have I excelled in so far? Housing, energy, transport, business, international development, and not forgetting home secretary. And now defence. Look up polymath in the dictionary and there’s a picture of me.’
‘Dictionaries aren’t illustrated,’ I say, evenly, ‘and weren’t you only home secretary for six days?’ ‘Six glorious days,’ he replies, ‘that still burn bright in the nation’s memory.’
‘Anyway,’ he concludes, ‘can’t hang about. A new brief to master. Not that it’ll take me long. If we win Ukraine thanks to my ideas, can you make sure I get credit?’
With that, Britain’s most deluded man leaves my office. It must be wonderful being him.
