Cummings and Goings: the DC diary
Scoooop! Thanks again to Wikileaks for passing on to me Dominic Cummings' diary entries for the period of time still in question. Behold! The truth, straight from the horse's mouth. And there's oh so much more to his movements than you could have imagined...
Friday 27th March
Fuck! The Bozz has got the hot fever. Had to scoot out
of there pronto and run to safety. In the taxi, I got one of my weirdo data
scientists to run the numbers on the chances of me being Prime Minister by the
end of the summer holidays. 63% apparently, even more if I started to distance
myself from him right now. I told Mary that we hadn’t seen my parents for a
while and did she fancy a trip up north. She hesitated, muttering something
about ‘lockdown’ but one look from me and she was packing our bags.
I bent down to talk to the kid and ask him if he
wanted to go and see Gramps and Grandma. Funny little fellow asked if that was
allowed. He can be a daft cunt sometimes. ‘Don’t you know what daddy does now?’
I asked him. ‘Daddy runs the country. I make the rules.’
It was great being on the motorway without any
traffic. I got the old Jag up to 120 miles an hour which had Mary and the kid
screaming at me to slow down – they can be a bit wet at times. To give them a
treat, I stopped at the services and gave them both £5 to spend on whatever
they wanted.
While they were in the shop, I rang BJ to see how he
was getting on; old fart could barely wheeze an answer. Don’t croak, I told him
but he didn’t laugh.
Be good to see my parents and get out of London which
was starting to feel a bit plague-y. I could tell they were getting old because
the old guest cottage was not exactly spic and span on our arrival. Maz had to
clean it properly when we arrived and then put the kid to bed while I opened a
bottle of Margaux and carried on with my version of Machiavelli’s The Prince.
Not sure what to call it yet. The Kingmaker? The King? The Shadow
Emperor?
After that, I was reviewing the latest Brexit
negotiations when Maz appeared looking a bit flushed but in her underwear. ‘Brexit
or Sexit?’ she asked. I looked her up and down. Her hair was a bit wild and it
had been a long day which showed in her face. ‘Brexit,’ I said.
Saturday 28th March
Dad apparently angry that I didn’t tell them I was
coming. Can be such a dick at times! Don’t need that kind of attitude from anyone.
Gave him the finger from the kitchen window when he went out to feed the
chickens. Can you fire your dad? Have to write new legislation, probably.
Maz still looking a bit old and frazzled. She could
hardly make my breakfast but I told her that lying down in bed feeling sorry for
herself isn’t going to do any good. The kid said he was bored so I explained what
the Schengen Agreement was but he seems to lack the insatiable greed for
complex knowledge that I had at his age. Must get a paternity test when Maz is
not looking.
Forgot how boring the countryside is. Wanted to shout
at someone so rang Priti Patel and gave her a good tirade about her department.
Told her she has to sack three people a week between now and the end of June.
Thought about ringing Shapps but he’s such a dozy cunt that it can feel like
shouting into a whore’s fanny and only hearing your own voice bouncing back at
you.
Feel a bit hot-headed myself actually. Can’t tell if
it is my pent-up rage or the beginning of the old plague. Rang my nieces and
said they may have to do a bit of babysitting if I feel worse. They’re both
pretty good-looking girls so it will make a change to have some hot young flesh
about the place. Maz looking worse and worse by the hour.
Monday 30th March
Dad left some eggs outside the door. He’d drawn a smiley
face on one of them for me but he’ll have to do more than that to get in my
good books. Mum came over to shout at us from the courtyard. Couldn’t really hear
her but couldn’t be bothered to open the window either. She didn’t look that
happy. Why do old people get so crotchety?
I feel like shit today. Only thing that made me feel
better was seeing BJ’s face on the news. With his white hair and red face, he
looked like an ejaculating penis. Must tell him. Just a thought, but should he
die, I will need a replacement puppet. Shapps is the emptiest vessel but who
would vote for him. Gove is a bit too much of a flabby-face. Hancock might have
the right amount of vacuous charm… Or should I… No, remember the tattoo on your
foot (in Taiwanese – Maz thinks it says her name): Better the hand behind the
throne than the arse upon it.
Dad worried about Mary apparently. He texted me to say
that even from across the way, she looks awful. Meddlesome old git. Texted
back: she just needs to keep busy. Mind your own business.
Then I stood up and passed out.
Tuesday 31st March
Knock on the door from the old bill. Could see dad in
the background looking smug. The absolute cunt! Had to do nice-face for the
rozzers and a little acting. Apparently, dad had called them worried about ‘security.’
Yeah, you old git, that’s why I got a lecture about ‘lockdown measures’, was
it? Took their names and numbers on the pretext of knowing who to call in a ‘security
emergency’ but will make some calls when I get back to London. No-one talks to
me like that.
Had to give Maz a dressing-down. She packed the wrong
woolly hat. Grey goes with everything, she said. How can she not know by now that
during the gibbous moon, I only wear the burgundy one?! Although she’s still
not feeling tip-top (and looks about a hundred and three), I told her to draft
an article for The Spectator. Just in case anyone starts asking questions about
this period. Make it all about childcare, I told her, the public are soft about
kids.
Wish I felt the same way. My son is an eternal disappointment.
How can playing all day long lead to intellectual nourishment. Needs to start
Prep school, maybe somewhere far away. Give him a bit of backbone.
Wednesday 1st May
God, looks like BJ is going downhill fast. Starting to
look like a polar bear that’s got too close to a fire. Must start succession
planning.
Saw dad going to feed the chickens whilst carrying his
double bore shotgun. If he thinks that he can scare me that easily… Rang the
head of MI5 to see if they could dig up some dirt on the old man. He must have
done something, I told them. If not, I said, fabricate something, preferably something
sexually deviant.
Feeling a bit stir-crazy. I didn’t know until now how
boring children really are. Starting to understand why I spend so much time at
No.10. Maz has recovered now but the plague has aged her. Either that or the
country air doesn’t suit her skin.
Thursday 2nd May
Killed all dad’s chickens in the night. Should have
seen his face this morning when he came back. Fucking hilarious!
Friday 3rd May
Did a Zoom SAGE meeting. Why are scientists so boring?
Had to instigate a rule that when I raise my eyebrows, they have to stop
speaking and look down at the table. Has sped up the meeting tenfold. BJ now in
total isolation and doing no media. Face-timed the old duffer just to gauge how
many days he had left. Not many, by the look of it. If you had your time again,
Boris, would you have eaten less cake, I asked.
Seems like losing your sense of humour (as well as
your sense of taste and smell) should be added to the list of symptoms.
Saturday 4th May
Wish I had some journos to joust with. It’s not the
same shouting out the window at my dad. He wouldn’t know a non sequitur if it
fucked him in the face…
The countryside is so boring. Why is the north so
provincial? Life just doesn’t feel the same when you can step outside and there’s
literally no danger of you being stabbed whatsoever. Give me London any day.
Why does my wife look uglier the more I see her? Must
ask BJ how he beds so many women. He might never see baby number 13, but he’s
doing a bloody good impression of Genghis Khan’s mission to splatter his DNA
all over the land. Can’t see Maz knocking out another dozen. Might need to
start playing the field while the seed is still jumping.
Sunday 5th May
According to the Guardian ‘Dominic Cummings timeline’ I
am ‘seen outside my property’ so I thought I should step outside and take a
piss against the old man’s Range Rover. No rules against that, are there?
BJ now in hospital – should I feel something? Just can’t
seem to call forth any emotion whatsoever. Maybe this is for the best. If he
dies, then we can re-shape the narrative and garner a bit of sympathy. Yes, he
has to go, actually. It’s for the best. I’ll give him a ring and tell him not
to hang on. He’ll understand, especially if I mention Churchill and sacrifices
for his country. He goes hard for that sort of thing.
Just had to get out today. Put Maz and the kid in the
car and just started driving. Got totally lost – Maz and the kid moaning and
moaning. Turned Abba up to full volume until the windows were rattling. Kid
needed a piss so had to stop and get gawked at by some plebs. Never seen a
little kid’s willy before, I shouted over ‘Dancing Queen’ – fucking nosy
northerners! Can’t wait to get back to London where everybody just ignores each
other.
Monday 6th May
Absolutely destroyed the kid at chess (again!) It
hardly brings me any pleasure now. To try and even things up, beforehand, I
drank a whole bottle of single malt Glenfiddich but this just added a layer of
aggression to my victory and my running commentary (or Cummings-tary, as I
called it) was not appreciated by the pouting, sulky dumpling that is my wife. Kid
went off in tears. Wife in a strop. Tried to bring her round for a bit of
whisky-inspired Sexit but once she took her clothes off, she looked even more
like a lesbian and my soldier stood down.
Once she fell asleep, I started looking online for an
escort but fell asleep with my laptop and a full tissue in my hands instead.
Must stop these shame-wanks. You’re not at public school now, Dommers!
Tuesday 7th May
Found a tiny but acrid turd on our cottage doorstep
this morning. Couldn’t figure out at first if it was a fox or the old man. Then
I saw him smile and wave from over the way and I knew it was him who had
squatted down in the night and forced this dark brown sausage out of his
wrinkled anus. So this is war!
Rang the local police to request they bring me more
whisky as ‘for security reasons’ it would not be reasonable for me to attend a
supermarket. May as well get them to bring me supplies. It’s not like there’s
any crime to keep them busy.
Made a plan to win the war with dad. It’s good to set
my mind to something. Numbers not looking good for our pandemic. When I say ‘our’,
I mean BJ and the cabinet. Need to start distancing myself from this mess. Best
if BJ cops one for the team. Bring the country together again.
Wednesday 8th May
Re-drafted Spectator piece then rang them to demand
they put it in next issue. Sent them so old photos of us to use alongside, of
back when Maz didn’t look like a retired rugby player.
Don’t know how to fill the days now that the kid won’t
play chess with me. I have absented myself from all govt. goings on as things
go from worse to worse. Rang the Lib Dems to sound out their thoughts on me
crossing over. Not so keen at first until I hinted at all the dirt I had to
dish. That perked them up. Said will keep checking in with them over next few
months. Always good to have an exit strategy.
Thursday 9th May
Listened to some drill to remind me of London. Fucking
shitty music but if I hear another cow moo, I will literally go out there and
eat it alive. The days pass like heroin through my brain – I am all glued up
and beaten down.
Looks like BJ might have beaten this thing – what a
cockroach! Had such a good speech written for his funeral, too. Even had some
good jokes in. Oh well.
Was I this thick as a child? The kid seems to have no
interest in string theory at all. Built a stupid Styrofoam castle instead. The tedium
of being a parent and only a parent is wearing my nerves thin. Maz and I are
barely speaking. Having phone sex with escorts after she goes to bed each night.
Seems like the right thing to do under the new regulations.
I have made a decision. Am going to bring forward
Operation Dead Dad to tomorrow. Don’t know how else to kill the time (ha-ha!)
Friday 10th May
Popped back to London on one of these days to get my
collection of woolly hats as my powers have felt diminished without them. Don’t
think anybody saw me. Felt good to see London again. Shame I had to come north
once more.
Also, I needed the navy blue one because this is my ‘firing’
hat. Going to push that descriptor a bit further tonight.
Texted pops to say could he come look at the Jag. Said
it wasn’t driving right. Said bring a torch but don’t tell mum.
Met the old duffer by the Jag and said there was a noise
coming from the boot. Once he popped the boot, I cracked him over the head with
a full bottle of Glen Moray and he toppled in like a sack of shit. Drank most of
the bottle for courage, then drove into the woods. Had already dug the grave so
just had to shoot him in the face and tip him in. Stupid old fart didn’t even wake
up! Imagine missing your own death?!
Came home, dead drunk (ha-ha again!) and horny as
fuck. Woke up Maz with an erection that could batter a castle gate down. Best sex
for yonks (note to self: murder gets you in the mood).
Saturday 11th May
Mum kept texting and ringing to ask if I’d seen dad.
Told her I saw him go out into the fields about ten-ish then turned my phone
off. Don’t need her bothering me all day.
Thought my sexual fever might have lasted until the
morning but Maz just looked like a middle-aged hippo this morning and I couldn’t
conjure anything up from downstairs. Felt strangely flat all day. Vaguely
wondered if killing mum would improve my mood. I’ll give it some thought.
Sunday 12th May
Maz looking at me weirdly all morning. Seems cross but
won’t say why. Women! After lunchtime she finally broke down and told me it was
her birthday. Gave her a thumbs up and said I’d take her out somewhere later.
Drove the Jag to Barnard Castle to look at Barnard
Castle. Got stared at again by some nosy old geezer who kept staring at my car.
Thought maybe there was a bit of dad’s brain or something that I’d missed but
couldn’t see anything. Maybe he was a psychic and there was some kind of death
aura coming off the silver trim. Didn’t hang around as he was giving me the creeps.
Why are birthdays so loaded with significance? You’d
think Maz was five today, the way she’s acting. As a concession, I told her to
cook whatever she wanted tonight. That just got me a withering look from the
old prune. Can’t believe I fucked her stupid two days ago…
Monday 13th
May
Packing up. Won’t answer phone to mum but she keeps
appearing outside the cottage looking tear-y and I have to go outside and poke
her 2m away with the broom. Why are old people so sentimental?
Couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye in the end.
Felt better and better the nearer I got to London. Must re-write the Five Year
Plan and keep all the money in the south.
Did a bit of jousting with the gathered journos
outside our home then fell into a deep dreamless sleep of the righteous-hearted.
Tuesday 14th – Saturday 18th May
Started banging Tory heads together. Fucking shocking
performances all round really, without BJ and myself hand-feeding the stupid little
sparrows! BJ looks only half-alive but his near-death experience should buy us
a couple of weeks to turn the ship around. Still kept Lib Dems bouncing with regular
calls and hints at where they’ve hidden the shit under the carpet.
Feeling really re-energised until got a mystery text
from mother: I think you should come back to look at the bluebells.
I hate the M1! Even when it’s mostly empty, travelling
north feels like descending into hell. Maz and the kid bored as fuck with all
the journeys and me being tight-lipped over why we were doing it again. Couldn’t
be bothered to explain so just pumped the Dire Straits all the way.
Sunday 19th May
Wouldn’t talk face to face with mum until I knew what
she knew but her texting skills are awful and so agreed to all go on a walk
into the woods. Could I kill them all, I thought, as I dropped behind and tried
to look at them as if they were vermin instead of family.
We stopped just beside dad’s final resting place, all
staring at the spring flowers and me just waiting for the accusation but it
never came.
‘Don’t the bluebells look lovely!’ I said.
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