This article is taken from the July 2024 issue of The Critic. To get the full magazine why not subscribe? Right now we’re offering five issues for just £10.

“Have you seen my suit? The tight one. No, the really tight one.” Rishi is looking through his wardrobe. “Darling, half of my clothes seem to have disappeared.”

“Oh yes,” says Akshata. “Well, I sent them off to the cleaners.” I don’t know why she’s saying this. Every day when Rishi is off in his helicopter she packs things into boxes that are taken away before he gets back. 

“That’s a good idea,” says Rishi. “I’ll want to look smart when I announce I’m forming my next government.”

She’s in a room surrounded by boxes. Some say “Charity shop” and some of them say “California”

Rishi puts on his second tightest suit, complaining that the trousers are too long, and we go downstairs. It’s been quiet around here lately. None of our friends come round any more. Even Jeremy Who Lives Next Door is too busy. “Surrey is touch and go, Rish,” he said, the last time we saw him. “It’s every man for himself.” 

Only our new friend Ric is left. He’s waiting in Rishi’s office, staring at his phone. “Time to get personal with Sir Sleepy Farmer!” he announces. Akshata makes a face and says she needs to call someone to discuss international shipping.

“Morning Ric,” says Rishi. “How’s Durham?”

“No idea. I’m bloody loyal to Essex these days.”

“Oh yes, of course. Every man for himself.”

“Look at this,” Ric says, pulling some grubby pieces of paper from his pocket.

“Is that from Isaac? I can’t get hold of him. I think his phone must be broken.”

“It’s our new attack lines. We’re going to expose Sir Beer for who he really is. Did you know that in 2019 he supported a terrible man to be prime minister?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Sometimes.”

Ric’s not the only one who likes funny names. Yesterday I found a piece of paper thrown away by Rishi’s friend James which had the same phrase again and again, like he’d been practising it: “Lord Forsyth of Winchester”.

I go and look for Akshata. She’s in a room surrounded by boxes. Some say “Charity shop” and some of them say “California”. She’s just sealed up my bed. I didn’t see which label went on the box, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.