MONDAY

BINKY at Trade and Industry Whatsapps me to say that Cummings is planning his biggest bombshell yet. Apparently at the height of lockdown last May the PM convened a top secret Covid war cabinet featuring Peach Shapps, Dopey Williamson, Sniffer Gove and Sleepy Hancock. The health bods were locked out and the PM told all of them that “absolutely everything would be considered”.

Cummings decided to make a list of all the suggestions. If this gets out we’re all friar tucked. Among the most eye-watering was this horror.

Peach Shapps suggested that the first-born of all families furth of West Bromwich be placed in mass child detention centres.

“Let’s face it, the north is jumping with the Covid; best we just cut our losses and save the kids.

“Then we can send them back into their empty towns and cities armed with a double dose of the vaccine and solid Tory values.”

Hancock got slightly shirty about this, pointing out that it resembled the plot of the 1960 horror movie “Village of the Damned”.

To which Gove replied: “Oh, do buckle up, Sleepy, this would be “Village of the Saved”.

TUESDAY

THIS Covid spat between Nicola Sturgeon and Andy Burnham is providing us all with some welcome relief from the Dominic Cummings stuff. The PM wants to send Burnham a case of Boddingon’s “or whatever else they drink up there” for giving Sturgeon a bloody nose on Marr for her decision to ban Mancunians from Scotland. “I’d bloody well like to ban them from London too,” says Dopey Williamson before copping a whack on the head from Gove.

Unfortunately, Carrie has put an idea into the PM’s head during one of their weekly “sessions” in the Downing Street dungeon. “What if we were to shut the Border for six months and stop all Scottish residents entering England in retaliation?” He’s gently reminded that half a million English people live in Scotland.

WEDNESDAY

THE PM has invited everyone round to No 10 to watch the Eurovision Football Contest and we all have to come in the national dress of our favourite other European country. It’s also a chance for Carrie to show off her new Overath & Holzenbein kitchen units, which I suspect is the real reason for the beano.

Dopey Williamson comes dressed as a Maori warrior complete with blacked-up face. “What part of Eurovision didn’t you understand,” says Peach Shapps and a taxi is ordered for Williamson, who returns an hour later dressed as a Canadian Mountie.

Father Stanislaus, Carrie’s sinister spiritual adviser, comes dressed as the Russian Orthodox priest he used to be before he was defrocked for running a “charity” brothel in St Petersburg to raise funds for a local orphanage. “What-ho, padre,” I shout (admittedly, I was a bit sparkled with the Pimm’s) “you’re a ringer for Rasputin, the mad Russian monk.” His eyes darken and he fixes me with a stare that seems to drain all that is jocund and light from my shrivelled soul.

THURSDAY

WHAT a day! During the cabinet meeting a call comes in from the Joint Chiefs and the PM is whisked away immediately. Seems there’s been a tussle in the Black Sea involving one of our destroyers, HMS Tumescent. The Russians say it was found loitering with intent and chased it out with a few shots across the bow. I’m asked to join him on account of my double third in Russian at Cambridge. The PM is quivering with excitement and starts acting like President Josiah Bartlet in the West Wing when the Americans are about to bomb some office block in the Middle East.

We all get a visual of actual events as they’re unfolding. Suddenly, a big black shape rises from the water around HMS Tumescent and the PM can’t contain himself. “Look! It’s a bloody Russian sub. Right boys, let the blighter have it. Let’s show Vlad who rules the waves!”

Rear Admiral Sir Peregrine Woof-Henley gently takes him aside and says: “That’s a Humpback whale, Prime Minister. It wouldn’t look good to be blowing them up with the Cop26 Summit just around the corner.” The PM tries to make a joke out of it. “Ah, I see,” he says. “Is that, um, one hump or two, what?” No-one is laughing.

FRIDAY

THE plan to solve the Cummings problem has gone badly wrong. A couple of MI5’s finest were detailed to do a Salisbury number on his door-knob. Incredibly, the bugger didn’t just survive, he was sitting up with a full English at the infectious diseases unit the very next morning. The doctors said he had natural antibodies that simply chewed up the ricin and spat it out. “We’ve only ever heard of such a thing from the American boffins working on that special project in the Nevada Desert.”