Much to my surprise, I got a FaceTime call from David Cameron. I hadn't heard a word from him since I had failed to turn up to the launch of his desperately dull political memoirs some years back. I just couldn't face all the self-serving lies and self-congratulatory speeches. Mind you, I could have done with the advance. Dave got the best part of 800k. A lot, lot more than I am getting for my own autobiography. And my book is far more accurate.
He couldn't keep the smirk off his face. A face that was weirdly unchanged despite the intervening six years. The Picture of Dorian Gray. Somewhere in his attic, there must be a portrait ageing by the hour. It was remarkable. Most former prime ministers look ravaged by the strain of office. But Dave is completely unaffected. No one ever found it easier to forgive himself for his mistakes than Dave.
That's mad. But you don't know anything about foreign policy. Last I heard, you were responsible for Brexit. Not exactly a triumph of international diplomacy. And then you destabilised Libya by bombing it. Details, Herbie. Details. These days, all a foreign secretary has to do is jet around the world first-class while trying not to start a war. It's a piece of piss.
Er, thanks but no thanks. I've got my reputation to think of. But very kind of you to offer. I thought you might say that. Never mind. Hope to see you again before the elections.
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