The story so far: as part of a new EU initiative, European Prime Ministers have the opportunity to exchange places for a year. Here, Batty Boyko, the Greatest Living Bulgarian (GLB) is rewarded for presiding over Europe’s most successful economy by being entrusted with the UK Premiership, while UK Eurosceptic PM Cameron has been forced to swap Downing Street for a secluded palace in Boyanna.
GLB: Everything’s going pretty well here. Better than a fur lined french letter. Yesterday I dispatched pretty Prince William to the Falklands. One in the eye for the Argies and a good write-up in the Daily Mail. Would you believe Melanie Philips has got my picture on her bedroom wall after my speech on Political Correctness. I wonder if Duchess Katya’s feeling lonely? I’ll give her a call later after I’ve delivered a broadside to the Bishops. They need to **** their mothers and just accept my Bulgarian welfare model. My people are brilliant at organising their own survival. I’ve arranged for the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Power Company chiefs to visit Stolipanovo to see how social problems can be tackled by community initiatives. Boris was on the phone earlier wittering on about bankers’ bonuses. I told him straight. Why is Bulgaria in Angie Merkel’s good books? Because it allows its businessmen to get on with no interference. Boris snorted something about getting away with murder. I told him to shut his trap and make sure babies get tickets for the Olympics. I want pictures of me holding a new-born in the Olympic swimming pool. Kicked a few balls with John Terry yesterday, before my PR man told me he’d been accused of racism. I had to cancel the photo shoot. They take all this very seriously here. I might invite Volen over for an Arsenal Tottenham match so he can get himself arrested and put in prison for a few years. But from what I hear from Dave, Volen’s not the force he was.
DC: Gosh, it’s three-pairs-of-underpants weather here, and no young fag to warm your hands on – just Tsvetan who always looks so mournful, the temperature drops six degrees every time he comes into the room. Cheer up! I say. Didn’t I give a five star speech praising the police handling of the Pernik affair? Kidnapper arrested and his suicide in police custody saved the state a lot of money. He mutters that the local police may have had a hand in the girl’s murder. Well that was a bit of a downer. Still I have to remind him: Eton wasn’t built in a day and we just have to accept that for the next few years, the justice system’s going to creak a little. Some major criminals will get off. There’ll be bad police apples. But we have to keep up the good fight. Play up! Play up! And play the game! It took five hundred years for our British major criminals to turn into respectable politicians. We just need to set realistic targets and learn to work with the right private enterprises. No repetitions of the Tsar Kiryo debacle.
I got a visit from Volen Siderov yesterday. He’s not the man he was but he still warms a room better than a Bulgarian radiator. Why haven’t I declared war on Turkey? Why haven’t I cut off relations with Macedonia? Why haven’t I interned the gypsies? Golly Volen – have you checked out your rating in the latest opinion polls? You’re doing worse than Milliband. Talking of Milliband – Sergei Stanishev is even wetter. He reminds me of Snotty Caruthers after he stuck a whole pear up his backside for a bet at the Bullingdon. The expression on his face – I thought I’d never see it again. Well Sergei’s got his problems now. Super-smoothie Purvanov is after his job now he’s not President any longer. With his elegant hair style, he’s bound to get the women’s vote. I phoned up Boyko. Anything to worry about? Boyko pointed me to a large file in Tsvetan’s office. A lot of stuff about DANCE. Purvanov looks the sort of chap who could manage an elegant fox-trot. Sam keeps on asking when we can hold a ball.