The Dear Leader's Speech - Episode 25

Frankly, today should have been an even greater triumph for me than it was. As every schoolchild should know, and will know under my clever plans for the educational system of this great nation of mine, I am the fifth cousin, twice removed, of her majesty the queen, and a direct illegitimate descendent, via five generations of women, from King William IV. As you can see, he was almost as devastatingly handsome as me. However, I don't mind sharing out privileges, as long as they go to the deserving, hard working, rich people I like to mix with, so I allowed my cousin to wear her expensive crown, and purr her way through the speech I wrote.

Unfortunately, I have included so many important things in my speech that it has been necessary, temporarily, to drop my planned destruction of the Human Rights Act that was so carelessly inflicted on my One Nation at the end of the war. This improvement, giving my grateful subjects a proper Bill of Rights, as demanded by the vast crowds who followed me everywhere during my triumphant re-election campaign, has been put on the back burner in one of my many kitchens, but will reappear when we have worked out how to explain it in a way that everyone will vote for.

Critics have said, and it shows how tolerant I am, that they are still at liberty to say such undemocratic things, that I will be likely to make the question for the in out in out in out referendum on Europe so complex that some of the simpler kind of English
people, who have not benefited from going to Eton, will not be able to comprehend the three split infinitives and two self contradictions in the question, and will accidentally vote 110% for what I want, which is for us to stay in Europe, and be in charge of all decision making, instead of voting the way our friends in UKIP would prefer.

Knowing that they will not have any way to prevent our much needed further cuts in the wildly over-generous benefits the state provides, the few remaining Liberal Democrats will not like my Full Employment and Welfare Benefits Bill, which will somehow force the creation of two million new jobs and five million new apprenticeships, but at the same time reduce the maximum possible benefits to £23,000 and ensure nobody can claim them. Especially not the young, who will have to "earn or learn" and won't be able to claim housing benefit, leaving it to be claimed by older people, who are much better at passing it on to their hard working landlords.

The sun is well over the yard-arm now, so I will complete these notes after I have celebrated with a case or two of properly expensive champagne with George and a few of my other millionaire chums...

The Dear Leader's Secret Diary - 24

This seems as good a place as any for me to collect a few of the splendid jokes I have heard, ready for use by me, at those events where we keep the proles out, and don't have to be politically correct. Here's somebody called Sandi Toksvig OBE, a pleasant young lady who has started the totally unnecessary "Women's Equality Party", talking about my friend Nigel "the Führager" Farage...

‘I watched the count for South Thanet and I found myself cheering for the Tory candidate,’ she told the audience. ‘I hate Farage for that, I really do. He made me cheer a Tory, the bastard.’

She then went on to refer to the testicle the Ukip leader lost to cancer, joking about what Farage and Hitler have in common: ‘Farage kept having pictures of him defaced with Hitler moustaches. I mean he’s not really like Hitler. Okay, he has a German wife, he hates foreigners, he only has one testicle, and he was defeated.’

I practised this one on Sam, who seemed somewhat impressed. She seems to think jokes about cancer can not be funny, for some reason.

And then there's this photograph, which clearly demonstrates that Boris has no clue how to play that violin.

David Cameron's Secret Diary - Episode 23

This is terrible! In spite of my getting the finest advice available, see above, and being considerably more clever than anyone else I have ever met, something has gone badly wrong with my plan to sort out Europe. 

While I was preparing my in-out in-out master-plan to keep us at the heart of Europe, by separating us from it, and getting rid of all the Human Rights and Green crap, a couple of undemocratic foreigners have effectively sidelined my clever move. How am I to make it look as if I have brilliantly reorganised things, if these unimportant people from minor countries are allowed to sabotage me? I am going to write their names in my Book of Bastards. Surely, common sense demands that instead of all negotiating together at meetings I could have attended, these two should have listened properly, with due respect, to whatever it was I was telling them, that would have helped them to realise I can run the EU all on my own?

They have made a serious mistake with their back room deal, and it is going to take a lot of time, photo-opportunities, and secret briefings of important newspapers like the Sun, to get things back on the track that I, and I alone, am determined to deliver, so that once again, everyone in the UK will love me.

As I have said before, and will keep saying, there will be ups and downs – you’ll hear one day this is possible, the next day something else is impossible. In out, in out, up down, up down. I'll show them I'm not mad!

My Jolly Secret Diary, part 22, by DC.

I am beginning to suspect people have been reading this, my Secret Diary, with a complete disregard for my absolute right to privacy. So, if you are looking at this document on my private, personal iPad, whomsoever you may happen to be, rest assured that I shall get my friends with the impressive office in a certain Gloucestershire town (but I'm carefully not saying which!) to find out who you are. I have quietly given them the go-ahead to look at every computer in this wonderful free country of ours, except mine, obviously. I'm sure they will get on with that just as soon as they have finished checking all the pictures they took with all the webcams they accessed. And of course, they will be careful to delete any pictures of underage girlies they may have accidentally taken, as soon as they have all examined them carefully.

I recently found that there was a jolly clever article about how nobody had the sense to challenge our narrative at election time, and the way we pretended everything was Labour's fault, even when it was actually the fault of some members of our administration like poor, silly little Clegg, or something over which we had no control at all. Blaming Labour for the banking collapses, Bernie Madoff, inflation and all the other things they had no control of was a brilliant master-stroke of presentation, which yours truly is proud of. (Of course, Lynton thinks it was him, but only I know just how clever I am.) I will have to get this Bernal fellow removed from the internet, the way I did with all the "promises, vows, and pledges" people imagine I made.

The picture of the secret building in Cheltenham Gloucestershire has reminded me that this Bernal chap is also part of a secret cabal, "academics" they call themselves, as if that meant they know more than me. They are writing ridiculous "open letters" about how I make the law which suggest that I should waste Parliamentary time with discussions of all the important things that are done in that building. This idea that I, the Prime Minister, can't make up a law all on my own, is deeply unpatriotic, and I think I will have these "academics" sacked and deported. They must think they have rights!

The Dear Leader's Diary - Episode 21

Well, here we are! Another week of our wonderful United Kingdom's new-found democracy, rewarding all hard-working families and not those other people, is almost at a close. An awful lot of lazy slackers are saying I wouldn't have won the election by a huge majority of four, if Rupert Murdoch's newspapers had not all, completely independently, given me their support. The fact is, of course, that I have never even met Mr Murdoch. But the Vote-OK group, chaired by Lord Astor (Samantha's lovely step-father) made it their business to go out and campaign for me in several key seats, where thousands of hunt workers have had ten years without their rightful jobs.  

Horrid TV interviewers keep asking me if hunting foxes and watching them be ripped to shreds is my favourite sport, as if they hadn't even heard of West Villa, or is it Aston Ham? Of course, I outfoxed them, by cleverly answering a different question, and saying I hadn't been on a horse in years! It's not difficult to get these people to stop asking the wrong questions, as most of them have never been near Eton. As the survey above, in a tabloid newspaper that Mr Murdoch doesn't own yet, shows, 20% want fox hunting back, and that's nearly as many as voted to get me back. The Queen's Speech will include the removal of the evil Labour ban on huntin' and I'm sure she will purr when she sees it!