WE have a problem. An eye-watering email from Patrick Harvie and Lorna Slater has been sent to all government advisers.

“The Scottish Greens are of the opinion that Christmas has no place in modern Scotland. It merely encourages gender stereotypes and marginalises other faiths and traditions.

“The Greens for Satan, one of our biggest affiliate groups, have reported that this is a difficult time of the year for them. They have been compelled to set up a special counselling service for members traumatised by irresponsible and reckless use of nativity images.

“We must end this Christian charade and make it obligatory for all local authorities to have alternative nativity scenes where the infant child is a gentle demon; the winged entities are Hell’s fallen angels and the shepherds are non-binary wood sprites gathering for their great winter bacchanal.

“This would address harmful stereotypes about the Prince of Darkness. We highly recommend our study pamphlet, ‘Make Time for Lucifer’ for all primary schools.”

I can see trouble ahead, but fortunately Kate Forbes is on hand to head off the madness. She suggests to Harvie and Slater that if there’s any more of their Satanic folderols she may be forced to re-consider funding for their sustainable death initiative which encourages families to leave the bodies of their dead loved ones to decay naturally in the open and thus provide a sustainable food source for endangered species.


THE problem hasn’t gone away. The Greens’ email has been leaked to assorted press outlets and they’re having a ball with it. The Scottish Sun leads the way with “Bite Christmas!” and a depiction of Harvie as Dracula. The Daily Mail goes with the slightly more restrained “Oh Little Town of Beelzebub” while the Daily Record screams “No’ Well; No’ Well, The Greens are No’ Well.”


I TAKE a call from Nicola who’s been very kind to me since I extricated myself from last month’s little escapade on the Clyde with the Peruvian herbals and turned it to my advantage.

“Rupert,” she says. “We need to instigate a deflection strategy to make this go away. Didn’t you once tell me that during your time in London you had some details and pictures of a Christmas Party in Downing Street last year that broke all the Covid guidelines?”

If I’m being honest, I was keeping this up my sleeve as a Get Out of Jail card should the ordure hit the fan at some point in the future and I needed to protect my arse. But I’ve kind of formed a (very innocent) crush on the First Minister. All she has to do is dangle her tartan Louboutins in a jaunty way and I’m hers (and she damn well knows it!).

So, I decide to leak the details of Boris Johnson’s lockdown party to my source at the Daily Mirror.


JOB done! Boris is all over the public prints and I feel that his popularity – even amongst his most implacable supporters – is ebbing fast.

I mean it’s one thing neglecting to wear a mask in public places. But when you’ve just cancelled Christmas for the British public and locked down the entire hospitality industry it’s perhaps not the wisest idea to hold your own private knees-up in Number 10 Downing Street.

Even so, I withhold some of the more lurid details. This included the PM hanging several bunches of mistletoe in every room on the premises. Out in the lobby there was a mistletoe branch for every square foot. Boris had invited the entire female staff of the French Embassy “to facilitate post-Brexit relations”. He also told them it was a sexy-Santa themed occasion and that in Britain it was considered impolite not to grant a kiss and a cuddle in the vicinity of mistletoe whenever you’re asked.


IT just got worse for the Prime Minister. The French are furious at Boris for blaming them for the migrant crisis and Le Figaro prints another anonymous letter to Brigitte Macron on the tell-tale Downing Street notepaper.

“Ma cherie, je would be vraiment heureuse if vous would venir a notre petit Christmas soiree la semaine prochaine. Vous once raconte-moi during le G-Sept summit that vous avez une tres joli et petit Santa Sexee outfit. Je would aime to voir cette outfit at notre petit Christmas bash.”

Unfortunately, the invitation fell into some rogue hands at the foreign office who added their own comment underneath.

“Sous no circumstances attend le Downing Street soiree. Le PM a un reputation pour un plancher du barber.”

Nicola is delighted with my work and I receive a text message from her.

“Rupert; you’re my hero for shifting the news agenda.”

There are not one; not two … but three little kisses at the end.

My week is made.