From not sending the SAS to snatch Covid vaccines from the Dutch to not persuading Prince Harry to stay in Britain, Boris Johnson has got the nation gripped with his new memoir Unchecked, the tales of all the things he didn’t do while he was in office. Now, after a crack team of interns guessed the former prime minister’s computer password (“B00bies”) The Critic is proud to bring you further extracts of the book they’re calling “The Boy’s Own guide to being the brilliantest prime minister in the history of ever”.

How I would have killed Hitler

“Take that, Fritz!” I yelled as I crunched my manly fist into the SS guard’s jaw. “Aieeeee!” he cried as he fell from the castle battlements into the icy wastes below. I shrugged my sniper rifle onto my shoulder and set off in search of my target. 

I had parachuted into the area the previous day, accompanied by my two bestest friends, Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood. After spending the night hiding out in a nearby convent, we had scaled the walls of the old schloss with murder on our minds. 

“Schweinehund!” Another guard had spotted us. I pulled a knife from my sleeve and hurled at it him with pinpoint accuracy, using the skills I had learned in my days as a daredevil circus performer before the war. He crumpled to the floor, blood running from his throat and staining the snow. 

“Gott in Himmel!” Around the table where they were planning their dastardly invasion of the moon, Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, Pol Pot and Dominic Cummings leaped back with astonishment as I kicked in the door. “For you chums, the war is very much over,” I snarled, firing my Bren gun from the hip. Or that’s what I would have done, if I hadn’t been blocked by politically-correct generals.

How I ended the embassy siege

I sucked on my cigarette and looked at the table before me. Could I do it? Yes I could. I was about to score a maximum 155 break in the 1980 World Snooker Championship final (possible because I was playing against Dom who always cheats so I’d got a free ball). Suddenly the door crashed open, and a blonde woman charged down the aisle. “Boris!” cried gorgeous pouting prime minister Margaret Thatcher. “Your country needs you. I need you.”

“One moment, your majesty,” I suavely replied, and potted the black to win the trophy, leaving Dom scowling with fury like the big lanky loser he is. “Now, how can I satisfy you?”

She leaned in so close I could peek down her blouse. “It’s the Falklands embassy!” she breathed into my ear. “The Argies have taken it hostage, and the SAS want your help.”

I smiled at her. “That’s two hours away. You can debrief me in the car.”

“Why Boris!” The greatest prime minister the country would know until 2019 giggled coquettishly. 

As we screeched into London’s Kensington Square Gardens, the SAS commander called me over. It was Bodie off the telly, or possibly Doyle. “Boris!” he looked desperate. None of us know how to abseil! Can you teach us?”

“Why teach, when you can do the job yourself?” I asked, pulling a balaclava over my mane of unkempt hair and leaping to the controls of the nearest helicopter. Seconds later, I was crashing through the top floor window of the embassy, Gold Lulu Lytle submachine guns blazing in each hand. 

“You again!” cried the chief terrorist. It was my arch enemy, Dom. “Sorry,” I replied, stuffing a hand grenade into his mouth. “I hope this isn’t too much of a blow.”

Or that’s what would have happened, anyway, if Matron hadn’t made me come in for tea.  

My very limited involvement with the Fall

I was sitting in the Garden of Eden sewing some fig leaves together when I heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day. So I hid from the Lord God among the trees of the Garden. But the Lord God called to me: “Where art thou?”

I answered: “Cripes, just over here. Bit awkward, actually, because I’m starkers, and I didn’t want thee to see me Todger Out, if thou knowest what I mean.”

And the Lord said: “Who told thee that thou wast Todger Out? Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldst not eat?”

And I answered: “I saw no fruit. I ate no blooming fruit. If this wast a tree of the knowledge of good and evil, it weret the feeblest tree in the history of arboriculture.”

And the Lord said: “Amst I going to have to get the cherubim over here with his flaming sword?”

And I answered: “The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, well I got bored of her and got another woman in, and then another one and then, well, long story short, the current one did possibly give me of the tree, and perhaps I did eat.”

“But,” I went on, “I do not for one moment believe that eating this so-called fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil in any way constituted a breach of the rules.”

And the Lord God said unto the woman: “What is this that thou hast done?” And the woman said: “The serpent beguiled me. His name is Dom.”