by Rishi Sunak closed the door on the last stragglers. It would be a good idea to invite every Dáil to a pre-Christmas drinks party in Downing Street to celebrate another very successful year in government. He had never known a Conservative party so united behind its leader. And he was about to prevent Mark Francois from making an impromptu speech while necking a bottle of vodka.
It was great to see so many happy faces. Even all those MPs who were accused of rape and sexual assault managed to laugh. And how good Scott Benton was to make an appearance before going on a well deserved 35 day holiday. If only more MPs had the ability to lobby for gambling businesses. Gambling was the only way out of poverty for most Britons these days. He was proud of a government led by such professionalism, integrity and accountability.
James Cleverly was the last to go. Of course he had. Jimmy D had become unexpectedly emotional as he said goodbye. Wiping a tear and giving him a manly hug. “I don’t think we’ll be doing this again next year,” he said. Rishi wasn’t at all sure what he meant by that, but gave him a soothing pat on the back anyway.
Oliver Dowden kindly offered to stay behind to help clean up the work. It was so nice to have a team you could rely on. When Olive removed the dirty glasses, Rishi sat back in an armchair. It was a great year. Prices are becoming more affordable. Just a little slower. The economy is going nowhere. People struggling to pay their mortgages. Hospital waiting lists are getting longer. This was a Britain anyone could be proud of.
Best of all, he was yet to become prime minister in 2024. UK prime minister 2022-24 would look a lot better on his CV than UK prime minister 2022- 23. No one would think now that he was just doing work experience. Well done, Liz Truss.
What was there not to love about life?
“Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate and come chat,” Rishi said as Olive finished tidying up. “I have exciting news.”
“What is that?”
“I have decided not to block the disability minister’s place.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Olive answered hesitantly.
“Better than good. It’s brilliant. I came into this position because I believe in public service. I wanted to give something back to this country. Although it is not taxed of course…”
“It’s clear.”
“So I decided that a disability minister sends the wrong message. It implies that we think that people with disabilities have special needs. They are different in some way. When we should be telling them we think they are skimming in some way. Just scrounging. What we want is for them to try more to be like us.”
“I see…”
“Now, Oliver. Before you go. I want you to be really honest with me. What one thing would really help me win more over the community?”
Olive took a deep breath. “Well, your poll ratings are great. Up there with Boris when he was forced to resign. But rather than being less useful in general, it might help if you didn’t come across someone so out of touch, entitled and hot.”
“I’m not fucking tetchy. Who keeps saying I’m techy? I can’t help being right about everything. Now and forever before I sack you, you wretch.”
By the next morning, Rishi was in a good mood again. An hour on the Peloton did him a world of good and he had booked a Zoom call with Giorgia Meloni. He didn’t forget that the Italian prime minister was the only world leader who spoke to him at the G7 summit when he was left hanging around like Billy No-Mates. And she even got in trouble for attending her AI summit unnecessarily earlier in the year. No one else had. So he had one for her.
“Buongiorno, Rishi,” Meloni said. “It will be so good to see you in Rome next Saturday. The Italian Brethren Convention is always a highlight of the year for me. Everyone the least bit of people would like to meet will be there.”
“Er … yes,” Rishi said. “How can I put this nicely … ? It won’t be too… well… easy, will it? Obviously I’m okay with a bit of fascism, but nothing over the top either. No swastikas or hymns to Mussolini or anything like that?”
Giorgia laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s not like the old days! I also had to manage my reputation. Now it’s just fascist-lite. Hey! We’re all neo-fascists now, aren’t we? No uniform required. It’s just wall-to-wall men and women in suits with extremely unpleasant views far to the right. Recently we had Steve Bannon and Viktor Orbán. Beautiful men. There may be the occasional rally, but mostly just speeches attacking immigrants. You’ll see right in. And the food is great!”
“That’s great, Georgia,” Rishi gushed, his relief palpable. “Grazie, as you say in Spanish, I think. I really can’t wait. We have so much to talk about. Especially on immigration. I know you hate foreigners almost as much as I do.”
“Si, si,” nodded Meloni. “I’m very impressed with you Brits. We only have a contract to deport refugees to Albania. Where’s the fun in that? Some of them are even almost happy there. But you. You send them to Rwanda. Now yes country Someone with a track record of murdering refugees. For sending a rape and death squad into a neighboring country. And it’s possible because you had the great idea to pass a law that bypassed the supreme court saying that a safe country could be any country you wanted it to be. You are welcome, my friend.”
“You’re too kind, Georgia, it’s going to be fun.”
“And as a special guest, Elon Musk is dropping by. He has promised that he will be doing job interviews for unemployed world leaders in the early afternoon.”
“You think about everything. Ciao for now.”
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John Crace’s book Depraved New World (Guardian Faber, £16.99) is out now. To support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy and save 18% at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply
