Boris Johnson has a lot on his plate. As Foreign Secretary, not only does he have to perform his duty of upsetting every other nation on earth, he also has to find time to prepare for extra extra-marital affairs, acting the buffoon to the merriment of the British public and undermining his boss, none other than the PM herself, Theresa May.

This week, Boris gives us an insight to a typically busy day as a front bench member of the Conservative Party.

6:00 AM: It’s up and about early and just enough time for a quick cup of fresh coffee before a hasty exit from my mistress’ house and back home before Marina wakes up.

7:00 AM: I get back home just in the nick of time and make out I am just out of bed. I say a quick hello to Marina and it’s straight out of the door again for a jog in some scruffy looking clothes carefully chosen for me by my PR assistant.

8:00 AM: Still sweating, I take a long phone call with the Barclay Brothers about Brexit and what is potentially in it for me. By all accounts, quite a lot of offshore cash if I get this right and keep the Proletarians onside.

10:00 AM: Time to put on my expertly contrived ill-fitting suit. This means ensuring I carry out my assistants instructions to leave the tail of my shirt hanging out, my top button undone and my tie all skewwhiff. It might look easy but fooling the nation by dressing like a loveable eccentric takes a lot of planning.

11:00 AM: An interview on Radio 4 proves tricky, so instead of getting drawn into answering tough questions, I throw in some big words and a headline grabbing insult aimed at a third world nation. Works every time and gets a laugh from Brexiteers. Some say I am the new Prince Phillip; high praise indeed, one feels.

 12:00 PM: A long lunch with one of the other ladies in my life. It’s on expenses so it’s off to Claridges for lobster and a 2006 bottle or two of Dom Perignon. It’s ruddy fantastic that I can drink an awful lot at lunch and just like Churchill, still write freely and eloquently afterwards.

4:00 PM: It has been a long day but news has filtered through that Theresa has gained a semblance of order in the party ranks. Time for me to show my Machiavellian talents by calling Rupes Murdoch and getting a piece in Saturday’s edition of The Sun. Easy peasy stuff this, those Sun reading mugwumps believe anything.

5:00 PM: After a meeting with my PR advisor, I have been instructed to put on a union jack waistcoat and fall off my bike somewhere near Buckingham Palace. I am increasingly concerned that stage-managed buffoonery is wearing thin but I am told that it has further mileage in it yet.

6:00 PM: Back at home Marina tells me that I should spend time with the sprogs which is a surprise as I forgot that I had any children. This results in a heated discussion where I end up telling her that it’s the job of the butler to look after children, not mine. I retire to my room and finish my article undermining Theresa.

8:00 PM: Time to put the box on and catch up on today’s news. The ‘falling of my bike’  stunt has gone down well and plenty of peasant folk that the journos are interviewing are laughing and saying things like “Boris for PM, he’s hilarious”.

9:00 PM: With my article about Brexit completed, I send it to my editor who has confirmed he will leak it to the media tomorrow morning. It is a bold vision of Brexit that I have completely fabricated to rally the support of the great unwashed. These fuckwitts are like foxes supporting a much deserved reinstatement of blood sports.

10:00 PM: It’s been a long day, so bedtime and some much needed shut eye for Marina and I. Marina reads her book for a while and I impatiently pretend to be asleep until she finally nods of.

11:00 PM: I check, then double check that Marina is asleep before tip toeing downstairs and off out to see a scrummy young filly of fine repute. Life is never dull when you are a foreign secretary and a Machiavellian bastard to boot.

Next week: A day in the life of Theresa May.