Sir Howard Elston, our chief Westminster mole, sits down with public enemy number one, Dominic Cummings.
Well, a word of explanation for my American fanbase (writes Sir Howard) which has problems buckling its shoes. Dominic Cummings was the power behind British Prime Minister Boris Johnson. Up until, that is, he was unceremoniously sacked and chucked out of Downing Street.
He was Rasputin to The Romanovs, Iago to Othello, a bully and a poisonous ideologue who wanted to destroy rather than compromise. He was the PM’s chief advisor but felt he ran The Show. Seems like Boris had had enough. And maybe the PM’s partner Carrie Symonds had had enough too about the whispers, the acidic asides, the pre-pubescent name calling, the half truths that he peddled.
Late last night, Mr Cummings sat down for a Dickhead Tapes special. Here are edited highlights:
Lord Elston: Dominic, you’re looking as evil and nasty as ever with that cynical sneer still smeared over your demonic face.
Dominic Cummings: Thank you, it’s been a well-crafted look ever since I tried to launch that Russian airline and it failed.
LE: You were sacked by your mate Boris, weren’t you?
DG: He never understood. He failed to see the pellucid light of One Nationhood. Bullingdon booze still poisoned his shabby mind. Dark forces overshadow our government. And Mr Johnson didn’t want to see that. I demand a recount (he titters).
LE: Dark forces…?
DC: MPs, lobby groups, free speech-loving Euro-creeps, latte-drinking sybaritic nabobs of negativism.
LE: You stole that from Richard Nixon’s vice-president who had to resign over…ahem… financial irregularities.
DG: I have Spiro Agnew’s hologram on my wall.
LE: But why were you sacked? Was it because you’re a bully tearing this country apart?
DG: We have to destroy in order to re-build. To build a New Nation. Take back control and….
LE: But we control our country through Parliament and, until we leave Brussels, through our elected Euro- MPs. There’ll be less control when we leave, not more
DG: The media is blind. Except for the ones that swallowed our ludicrous lies. Boris will come back to me like a slavish puppy dog. Mark me. He’ll be whimpering under my bedroom window within days. I assure you. He needs, he begs for my singular piercing light. (Mr Cummings starts mumbling to himself about Lady MacBeth and dribbling slightly from a corner of his thin mouth. Then the lights suddenly switch off, there is a whoosh of a cold wind and a hideous sulphurous swoosh of leather wings and the cameraman asks Sir Howard if he should stop filming….)