'Raab's no bully,' I told her. 'When he lifts me by my lapels, it's just to emphasise his point'

15th December 2022

From the diary of Rishi Sunak, Britain’s prime minister

DOM? He’s a great guy. An action man. Gets things done. Now Gav’s gone, he’s the hardest dude I know. He only lifts me up so we can be at eye level.

He was doing it the other day. ‘Five more complaints?’ he said. ‘Give me their names. Give me their fucking names or I throw you through that window.’

I wasn’t taking any of his nonsense. ‘That’s an internal window. I’d just land on Michelle Donelan’s desk and there’s enough in her in-tray already!’ I quipped, unintimidated.

‘Prick,’ he joked back, putting me down. ‘I’m justice secretary, alright? That means I deal the justice. Like Judge Dredd. These complainants? Remind them my karate can kill a man.’ And he stalked off, his forehead vein throbbing.

‘So I handled it,’ I tell my wife over gaeng daeng in the small kitchen. She prefers me not to eat in the main kitchen, which I respect because that’s how to make marriage a success.

‘Handled it?’ she says. ‘You let him hoist you like a pallet of bricks on a building site, and you’re in control? Heaven help us. You see this opportunity, right?’

‘It’s an opportunity,’ I say, ‘to show that I stick by my team and reward loyalty.’ ‘No. It’s an opportunity to get rid of this jumped-up prick who was only tough in nice grammar school. Put him on the scrapheap with the bitch Patel.’

‘Dom?’ I say, scandalised, while straining not to glimpse a future where I can freely visit the members’ tea room. ‘I couldn’t do that, and not because the ERG won’t let me like with Braverman. He’s a friend!’

‘Oh love,’ says Akshata, ‘I thought you knew? You don’t have any friends.’

Mash Blind Date: A 35-year-old woman and the dickhead she sadly knows she will settle for

14th December 2022

DESPERATE Joanna Kramer, aged 35, has set her self-esteem aside to go on a date with useless prick Tom Booker, aged 38. Will it be a love for the ages?

Joanna on Tom

First impression?

Adequate. He’d barely ironed his shirt and didn’t bother running a comb through his hair or, from his breath, brushing his teeth. But I’m not getting any younger.

How was conversation?

Terrible. The only breaks between awkward silences were to find out that we had literally nothing in common. Telly, hobbies, sense of humour, none of it. But he didn’t talk about himself 100 per cent of the time so he technically gets a pass.

Memorable moments?

There was one point where I thought a gnat landed in my soup, but it was actually just an eye floater that caught me off guard. Compared to the rest of the evening that was a real Dear Diary moment.

Favourite thing about Tom?

The name Tom’s pretty good, not too posh, not too common. Please don’t ask me to be more specific because I was too busy imagining how just-about-tolerable our evenings together will be, once we move in. I imagine I’ll go to bed early and watch Netflix on my laptop a lot.

A capsule description?

Human biped capable of breathing. And hopefully reproducing, because that’s all I’m really looking for at this point.

Was there a spark?

I could hear the last smouldering embers of my self-esteem cry out ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ as I playfully suggested we go back to mine. Luckily they’re completely dead now and I’ll never hear from them again.

What happened afterwards?

We stopped off at a nearby pub so I could take the edge off, then went back to mine for a predictably disappointing shag. He seemed to have a good time though.

What would you change about the evening?

That it wouldn’t have had to come to this? That I would have found Mr Right in the prime of my youth so I wouldn’t have to resort to scraping the dating barrel? Is that allowed as an answer or is it a bit too real?

Will you see each other again?

I’m a single woman looking down the barrel of infertility. He’d have to do a lot worse than that to deter me. I’m already planning our wedding in my head.

Tom on Joanna

First impression?

Bit keen. She kept tossing her hair and laughing even when I wasn’t saying anything funny. I can’t blame her though, my raw animal charisma and liberal application of Joop Homme often has this effect.

How was conversation?

Halting. She’d ask me something and before I finished answering would wince, as if it was so predictable it was painful. Then you’d see her summon the strength to carry on. All I’d said was that my favourite movie was Goodfellas.

Memorable moments?

We made eye contact at one point and I gazed into the cavernous void where her self-respect used to be. It was terrifying. I felt like she was forcing my soul to commit itself to a relationship it had no power to resist.

Favourite thing about Joanna?

She’s low maintenance. It’s as if her standards have gradually lowered over the years and now she’s hit rock bottom.

A capsule description?

Clearly desperate, but in a Desperate Housewives sort-of-sexy kind of way, not a tragic, terrifying way. For the most part.

Was there a spark?

Absolutely. The friction generated by Joanna’s desire not to die alone, rubbing up against the last vestiges of her dignity, practically lit up the whole restaurant.

What happened afterwards?

We staggered back to hers once she was drunk enough and I treated her to some of my best sex moves. Which admittedly aren’t that special, but she put up with it and obligingly faked an orgasm.

What would you change about the evening?

I would rather I hadn’t been able to see her phone screen when she was texting her friend ‘4/10 but he’ll have to do, I’m all out of options.’

Will you see each other again?

I think so. She made it very clear that if she goes on another first date with another fucking loser she might snap, and though she said it in a light, humorous manner, it was very clear she wasn’t joking. So we’re spending the rest of our lives together by default.