Rishi Sunak has closed the door on the last of the stragglers. It was his brilliant idea to invite all Conservative MPs to Downing Street for a pre-Christmas drink to celebrate another year of exhilarating success in government. He has never known a Conservative Party so united behind its leader. He also managed to stop Marc Francois from making an impromptu speech whilst downing a bottle of vodka.
It was great to see so many happy faces. Even MPs facing charges of rape and sexual assault managed to smile. And how wonderful to see Scott Benton turn up before he goes on 35 days leave. If only more MPs had the wit to lobby for gambling companies. Gambling is the only way out of poverty for most Britons today. He was proud to lead a government with such professionalism, integrity and responsibility.
James Cleverley was the last to leave. Of course. As they said goodbye, Jimmy D. became unexpectedly emotional. He wiped away his tears and gave him a manly hug. “I won’t be doing this again next year,” he sobbed. Rishi had no idea what he was trying to say but gave him a reassuring pat on the back anyway.
Oliver Dowden kindly offered to stay behind to help tidy up. It was such a blessing to have staff you could rely on. Rishi sat back in his armchair while Oliver cleared away the dirty glasses. What a great year it had been. Prices were getting more and more unaffordable. Just slow down a bit. The economy was going nowhere. People were struggling to pay their mortgages. Hospital waiting lists were getting longer and longer. This was a Britain we could all be proud of.
Best of all, he was due to remain Prime Minister in 2024. UK Prime Minister 2022-24 will be a much better name on his CV than UK Prime Minister 2022-23. No one will suspect by now that it was just work experience. Damn you, Liz Truss.
What’s the point of not having love in life?
“Make me a cup of hot chocolate and come in for a chat,” Rishi said once Olive had finally finished tidying up, “I’ve got some great news for you.”
“what’s that?”
“We have decided not to replace the Minister for Disabled People.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Olive replied hesitantly.
“It’s not just good, it’s wonderful. I took this job because I believe in the mission of public service. I wanted to give something back to this country. Of course, it’s not tax money…”
“clearly.”
“So I decided that having a minister for disabled people would send the wrong message. It would suggest that we think disabled people have special needs. They’re different in some way. What we should be doing is letting them know that we think disabled people are somehow lazy. Just a tackling a living. What we want is for them to try harder to be like us.”
“I see …”
“Now, Olive, before you go, I want you to tell me honestly. What is something that would really help me gain more public support?”
Olive took a deep breath. “Well, your poll ratings are fantastic, on par with Boris’s when he was forced to resign. But it might help if you not only weren’t overall useless, but also came across as out of touch, arrogant and cranky.”
“I’m not that annoyed. Who’s going to say I am annoyed? I have to say I’m right about everything. Get out before I fire you, you pathetic doormat.”
The next morning, Rishi was in a good mood again. He’d just had an hour on the Peloton, feeling great, and he’d booked a Zoom call with Giorgia Meloni. He’d remembered that the only world leader who’d spoken to him after he’d been left alone like Billy Nomates at the G7 summit was the Italian prime minister. She’d even gone out of her way to attend the pointless AI summit he’d organized earlier this year. No one else showed up. So he felt indebted to her.
“Buongiorno, Rishi,” Meloni said with a smile, “I’m so happy to see you in Rome this Saturday. The Italian Brotherhood convention is the highlight of my year, because all the people most people would never want to meet are there.”
“Ah, well,” said Rishi, “how can I do it in a gentle way… without sounding too… well… fascist? Sure, it can be a little fascist, but not too much. No swastikas, no hymns to Mussolini, or anything like that.”
Giorgia laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s not like the old days. I had to manage my reputation too. It’s all mildly fascist now. Hey! We’re all neo-fascists, aren’t we? No uniforms necessary. There are wall-to-wall men and women in suits with very unpleasant far-right views. Recently we had Steve Bannon and Viktor Orbán. Nice men. There might be an occasional rally, but it’s mostly speeches attacking immigrants. You’ll blend in quickly. The food is great!”
“That’s amazing, Jorja,” Lisi gushed with obvious relief. “I think it’s called grazie in Spanish. I honestly can’t wait. There’s so much I want to talk to you about, especially about immigration. I know you hate foreigners as much as I do.”
“Exactly,” Meloni nodded. “I’m really impressed with you Brits. All we have is a treaty to return refugees to Albania. What’s funny about that? Some refugees are happy in Albania. But you. You send them to Rwanda. Now we have a country. A country with a history of murdering refugees. A country that has sent rape and death squads to its neighbours. And all this made possible by your genius idea to pass a law bypassing the Supreme Court, saying that a safe country can be wherever you want it to be. Hats off to you, dear friend.”
“You’re too kind, Giorgia. This is going to be fun.”
“And we’ll have a special guest: Elon Musk, who promises to spend the afternoon conducting job interviews with some soon-to-be unemployed world leaders.”
“You think of everything. See you later.”
Depraved New World by John Crace (Guardian Faber, £16.99) is now available. Support the Guardian and Observer by ordering from guardianbookshop.com and saving 18%. Delivery costs may apply.