No, it's not Adonis. Although you'd be forgiven for thinking so. With looks like these there was never any doubt I was destined for a life in the spotlight. 'You're a beautiful boy,' nanny always used to say as she scrubbed my face clean. And I'd have to be a churlish sort of chap to deny it.
Not having the brains to learn lines and remember where I was supposed to stand I couldn't go for a career as a film star, although I was sorely tempted by some of the rampant totty one gets to hang around with. And there's only so long you can pose for holiday snaps before it gets interminably dull. Then I saw Tony Blair address his party conference and thought, that's a jolly good wheeze for a looker. I won't have to learn any lines, they scroll them up on one of those tv screen thingies. Just the sort of thing for a chap like me.
So here's me coming of age with some pretty decent sorts after a Bullingdon bash. Say what you like about Oxbridge they do know how to give a chap like me a sense of entitlement. Too squiffy to recall who this lot were, but I'm obviously the Belle of the Ball and making quite an impression.
I've always been a hit with the ladies which is why I insisted on having plenty of them in the cabinet. It helps to have someone to make the tea and mix a cocktail in an emergency.
Here's me and my old fellow Bullingdon Boris De Piffle enjoying some good natured "It's all his fault" rivalry. Boris and I enjoy a pretty healthy sort of relationship despite him being a conniving backstabbing bounder of the lowest water. I certainly wouldn't trust him with the nanny after lights out as they say in the army. The odd thing about Boris is he's a big fan of the EU yet decided to support Leave in the EU Referendum campaign for the sole reason of upstaging me. Of course this was a hopeless ambition since he can't hold a candle to my stunning good looks. It's pretty clear from this photograph exactly which of us the camera loves. I only hope everyone realises he's the real villain and the cause of Brexit, and not me although I was the bloke who called the referendum without any strategy other than looking bloody good in a navy blue suit.
The reason the whole Brexit debacle went awry was partly because I thought I'd cracked the whole referendum thingy after giving Salmond a good cuffing in 2014. What a slippery piece of work he is, photographed here stealing my watch out from under my very nose in front of the media. One thing I learned from the independence referendum is you can never trust a Scotsman. When the campaign started we were cruising along with support for independence in the 20 percentiles. But by the last week someone had been showing Braveheart or something because I realised to my horror that support had jumped to over 50%. At that point I had to roll up the old sleeves and turn on the famous Macaroon charm, and after a few hours on the phone lines threatening grannies they'd lose their pensions the Better Together campaign was back on track again.
And just as soon as we'd bagged a victory I got out behind the lectern again and announced English Votes for English Laws, another stunning policy success. The last thing we English need is uppity Scotsmen like Salmond poking their noses into our laws. That's the reason our United Kingdom is so strong and will endure for a thousand years.
Which brings me to another Scotsman I learned I couldn't trust, and this betrayal was particularly painful as I'd taken him into my home and treated him as an equal. Here he is no doubt lining up the dagger to stick in my back. All those years we were sharing barbecues and cutting the welfare state together and all the while he was planning to usurp me with the loathsome de Piffle. Of course I got the last laugh when he stabbed Boris in the back too, and I've still got his lawnmower which he can whistle for.
Next week: Ten things to do with a pig for relaxation, or eleven if you eat it.
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