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What Boris Johnson's divorce speech was like, based on his resignation speech

GOOD afternoon family. It is clearly the will of your mother that she should be the new head of the household and effectively your new father. 

I want to say to the many people who attended our wedding in 1993; thank you for that incredible turnout. And the reason I have fought so hard for this marriage is not just for myself, but because it was my obligation to them to deliver on that promise of eternal love.

Of course, I’m immensely proud of my achievements in this marriage. From fathering four wonderful children to writing for the Daily Telegraph to becoming an MP and mayor of London, I have gone from strength to strength.

In the last few days I’ve tried to persuade your mother that it would be eccentric to change spouses when we are delivering so much and have such a vast house in Islington, where I have still maintained a high libido after some pretty relentless sledging.

I regret not being more successful in those arguments, especially as I had an unflagging stonk-on, but the menopause is powerful and when it comes, it comes.

And, my friends, no wife is remotely indispensable. My brilliant and Darwinian system of fucking will produce another wife equally committed to remaining in the marriage through tough times.

To that new wife, whoever she may be, I say: I will give you as much support as I feel like. And to you, my family, I know many will be relieved and some disappointed. But them’s the breaks.

I want to thank all those who have helped me through my marriage – no names necessary, you know who you are, my honeys are the one group who never leak – and you, my children, who have had to put up with so much for so long.

Being married is an education in itself. In addition to the beauty of other wives, I’ve found so many women who throw themselves at you when they see the ring. So I know while things are dark for you now, my future without you is golden.

Thank you all very much.

'They can't put a mother of two out on the streets,' I said. 'Soon-to-be single mother,' said that cow Dorries

From the diary of Carrie Johnson, Britain’s First Lady: 

TWO children, the oldest a toddler. A young, beautiful mother who could be left homeless. ‘And divorced,’ said Dorries, who’s been on the Pinot. 

She’s here all the time now, which doesn’t help the last-days-in-the-bunker feel, nor does it help keep the wine fridge stocked. ‘Can’t we get rid of her?’ I asked him. No answer. So it appears we’re that fucking desperate.

How has it come to this? Over Arse Pincher? Who’s also hanging around, because he’s afraid if he gets photographed leaving Downing Street the world will remember he’s the one twat that hasn’t quit.

‘Logically,’ Big Dog said, taking a nip of single malt to fortify himself before the select committee, ‘once you’ve resigned, nobody gives a shit what you think because you’ve resigned. So this clears a path to appoint Boris loyalists.’

‘Brilliant,’ Dorries said. ‘I’m ready to do whatever it takes. I’m already multi-tasking as an MP and a bestselling novelist. I could handle say five cabinet posts.’

‘I could do education,’ said Pincher. ‘We’ve fucking got someone in education,’ I snapped, covering Romy’s ears. ‘Logic doesn’t apply. This is the Tories. What did Gove say?’

‘That I needed to go for the good of the party,’ he said, taking another nip. ‘Same as the rest of them. As if I gave a fat dick about the party. Or the country.’

‘They can’t make you go,’ I said. ‘What about me? What about the kids? What about Chequers? Can’t we just ignore it?’

‘That’s the plan,’ he said. ‘Stay in office, ignore all the no-confidence shit, talk up the mandate from the electorate. Wait it out, come roaring back, triumph at a general, the Boris Era rolls on.’

‘And if that doesn’t work?’ I said. ‘You’ll be looking for a second husband,’ said Dorries. Sly bitch. Though if I’m honest she’s not wrong.

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