I HATE him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

Every year he does it. With his charisma and his likeability. He’s such a git.

We’re all getting on splendidly without him, going about our business, when he storms along like a king carried on a litter, with all his minions — Tory members (no less!) who are supposed to be in love with me — surrounding him like he was the second coming of Christ.

And here I am, the leader of the party nobody gives a Friar Tuck about.

For him people are all: “Ooooh Boris, I like your hair. Say something funny Boris, hahahaha. That was funny Boris. Say something controversial about race, the poor and the welfare state — that’s so bumbling and so, so you … that people will let you get away with it. If only we could genetically cross you with Thatcher then we’d have the ultimate uber-Mensch of a Tory leader for sure.”

And for me people just grumble “Oh, hello David,” and scurry quickly off. What a cheek, a bare-faced ruddy cheek!

Why does nobody like me? What have I done wrong? I’m nice — I have a background in marketing and PR. I should be good at getting people to like me. Am I so hated that not even lies and spin can encourage people to think better of me? I feel like the public school boy no-one wanted to play with — no wait, that was me.