From the diary of Rishi Sunak, Britain’s least tangible prime minister
WHEN everything’s going so well, why interfere? So I’ve spent the week in hiding.
Not in the Commons, apart from PMQs which doesn’t count because it’s only for the hardcore heads, not in Downing Street, not in the house. Unfortunately my wife worked it out.
‘Why are you in the shed now? It was Boris got banished, not you. They’re doubling interest rates out here, it’s ten per cent now,’ she says from outside.
‘The news said five!’ I squeak, giving myself away, and slink out ashamed. In truth I think she knew last night when the children were swimming and she was making remarks about rats in the outbuildings and calling an exterminator.
‘I felt,’ I say, ‘that it was a time to step back from the country, the party and indeed the family, to rebalance my chakras, and to heal.’ ‘You’re not going to believe this,’ she replies, ‘but they noticed you were gone.’
‘Swordaunt was holding the front bench alone,’ she continues, ‘the Telegraph has called you Judas but cowardly, and the economy’s crashing. There’s also a submarine. And the boy comes to clean the pool tomorrow.’
‘Tell me more about this submarine,’ I say, but Akshata senses my avoidance strategy. ‘Labour says you’ve lost all moral standing. The Tories say you’ve lost all economic standing. Boris says you’re a cunt. He wrote a postcard.’
‘Well I’m glad I wasn’t there for all that,’ I say, decisively. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘good to know the country can run itself into the ground without you.’
