9.00 am Watching the telly at HQ. They are covering a rally in Bolsover to celebrate Boris the Great's historic victory over the forces of progress, equality and social justice. There's a huge audience of his new prole supporters, cheering the Prime Minister's every word. 'And so Laura said to me, "Would you press the nuclear button darling?" And I said I press it every time I see a gal in a short skirt! Phwoar! Phwoar!' This is greeted with load chants of 'Boris! Boris! Boris!'

'What do you new prole chums want?', he calls out to the crowd. 'Lower wages', they respond enthusiastically. 'What do you want?' 'Worse housing conditions and more homelessness' What do you want?' 'Harder working conditions and no job security' 'What do you want?' 'The selling off of the NHS'. 'What do you want?' 'The rich to get richer and richer'. 'And that my new prole chums is exactly what you are going to get', he tells them. The cheering is deafening as the crowd storm the stage, hoist him onto their shoulders and carry him off through the streets to the local cemetery where they all queue up behind him to piss on Dennis Skinner's grave.

'Wow!' says Toby Young, who is watching the news with me. 'He truly is the Nietzschean Superman come alive. We are all blessed to see the dawn of the Age of Boris. Britain is Phwoar again'. He is in the office to discuss the setting up of an Academy chain for Boris's casual children. No one is sure how many there are, but he reckons five schools should be enough. Applicants will have to be boys, blonde, able to lie routinely and without any shame, not take responsibility for anything they do, be able to spaff four feet up a wall and be absolutely selfish and self-centred. 'Why can't they just go to Eton', I ask him. 'Too many of them', he tells me. He has been nominated as chief executive of the chain which he describes as the greatest honour he has had since his father pulled strings to get him into Oxford because his grades weren't good enough.

One problem is that many of the little Johnsons are hidden away. As Toby tells me, when Petsy got pregnant, he advised her to have an affair with some other man and to pass the child off as his, so we just don't know how many are out there. What a man! There has never been a Prime Minister like him before. He's got all the character of a diseased rat. Just what the country needs. Apparently, the BNA test they are developing at Porton Down, and which all kids will have to undergo, should sort them all out. Toby reckons that sometime in the near future we should have enough Johnsons to fill the Cabinet and a good many seats in the Commons as well. Great days ahead.

Still considering what to call the Academy chain. Favourite is the Johnson Cuckoos.

Not sure why but I always feel dirty and in need of a shower after a meeting with Toby. Something about him. Not sure what, but it is probably that time he joked about masturbating while looking at starving children on the telly.

12 noon Meeting to consider how the Education Department can implement the government's climate emergency strategy, Operation Greenwash. What we have to do is focus attention on grandiose meaningless statements that show we are taking the danger seriously while covering up the relaxation of environmental regulations and controls on the ground where it matters, and that, if people noticed, would show that we really could not care a less. It's all a matter of sleight of hand, according to the Dominator. Not convinced myself. It might fool the older people but a lot of these kids, despite all our best efforts, are pretty canny and can see right through our deceptions. The hope is that branding the climate crisis movement as terrorists and turning the secret police on them will help. And then there is the problem of veganism. One of my colleagues suggests compulsory meat eating in schools, and this is under consideration.

'What if they're right about the danger', I ask? 'Of course they are right', laughs Boss Williamson. 'the planet is going to either burn, drown or both. All the science points in this direction, but you can't let this sort of thing get in the way of making money. And anyway, by the time things reach extinction level, our billionaire pals, Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, even Dickhead Branson and co, will have space habitats and a colony on Mars in place so we can all escape to safety. Well I say all, but it will only be the super-rich and their creatures so I should be alright, but you lot are all doomed. Still enough chat, there's work to be done. We've got to pull the wool over their eyes and those we can't fool have got to be bullied into silent acquiescence or banged up'. 'Leave it to us Boss', I tell him.

2.00 pm The annual Babble-Scream awards at Dulwich College. This is the most prestigious event in the educational calendar, hosted by the government's Discipline Fuhrer, Tom Bennet, a former night-club bouncer or manager or something. Prime Minister Johnson himself will be handing out the prizes. We are looking for new and creative ways to break youthful spirits, inculcate hopelessness and despair and thereby prepare young people for the real world, but there is still something to be said for the older forms of cruelty.

One of the most innovative advances is the Virtual Reality Detention Punishment that has been developed by the MicroHard Academy (motto: 'Who Gives a Fuck about the Kids, Give Us Loads of Money'). The victim, I mean kid, has the VR gear put in place and then they are subjected to scenarios of increasing horror according to the gravity of their offence. For example, talking during lesson changeover can get them an immersion in a nest of poisonous spiders that encase them in a web and then slowly eat them alive for the duration of the detention. Lot of people like this one and were really impressed by the head, Bill Prison Gates' presentation. He obviously really cares about huge amounts of money and then more money, but all for good causes apparently.

Much more low tech, but still apparently effective is the scheme developed at the Oceania Unfree School (motto: 'Freedom is Slavery'). The head, B. Brother tells us that Isolation cells were too expensive for his school, so they came up with a much cheaper and even more humiliating solution. What he has come up with is a large cardboard box that can be easily assembled in the classroom and in which the offender can be wholly enclosed, completely cut off from the outside world at their own desk. They are developing a much smaller box to enclose kids' heads for lesson changeover.

Another contender was from the Bastille Academy (motto: 'Don't mention 1789'), an 11 to 18 prison, I mean school, where they had kept a kid encased in an iron mask for running in the corridor since her first year. She was kept locked in a tower. This the head, Louie Sixteen, told us had absolutely terrified the rest of the kids and despite talk of Revolution in the non-playground everything was absolutely under control.

This year's prize though went to the Dark Ages Academy for their revival of a good old-fashioned punishment. Naughty kids are kept suspended in cages from corridor ceilings and left without food or water for as long as their crime required. Attila the Head came up to the rostrum to receive his award from the Prime Minister who said a few words: 'Get Brexit Done! Phwoar, look at the bottom on her! Who's a Big Girl's Blouse then! Mumble, Buller, Mumble, Buller, Crikey, Gadzooks, Phwoar!' and other catch-phrases before Dominator Cummings tells him to 'shut the fuck up you fucking half-wit'. He hands over the treasured Spiked Cane of Discipline, the ultimate symbol of school punishment.

Then Attila the Head said a few words. Apparently, the cage deterrent was particularly effective if you had a few rotting corpses in them scattered through the school and while some parents had complained, usually the parents of the kids who had died, the great majority were, as you would expect, very supportive.

Great stuff. Really uplifting. On my way out I pass the PM engaged in conversation with a rather upset young woman. I just catch him telling her: 'What you've got to do is have an affair with some other chap and tell him the baby is his. Always works'. What a man! Never been a Prime Minister like him.

7.00 pm Emergency meeting of the BUNNY (Broom cupboard Under Number Nine's Yard) committee. This is the shadow of the COBRA committee where the government publicises its response to any crisis coming down the road. The BUNNY committee is where the real decisions on the most important issues are taken though. Apparently there is some sort of deadly infection coming our way and we have to prepare secret plans in response to the dangers it might pose to Tory domination of the country. All the government's top people are there: Mutt Handjob, the Health Secretary, No Pity Patel, the Home Secretary, Dominic Raabish, the Foreign Secretary, Mickey Gove, the PM's fag, Rishi Rich, the Chancellor, and, of course Field Marshal Williamson. The Dominator chairs the meeting.

'OK fuckwits', he tells the committee. 'The world has changed. What we have to do is make sure we hold on to power, that the rich stay rich and that the great mass of morons are duly grateful no matter how many of them die because of your incompetence. Are we all clear!'

The first point the PM wants cleared up is whether or not this Covid-19 virus is sexually transmitted. When he is assured by our medical expert Doctor Donothing that it isn't, he breathes a sigh of relief and relaxes. 'I don't think those of us with superior genes have anything to worry about', he mumbles. He closes his eyes and begins gently snoring as the discussion proceeds.

The first item on the agenda is how the government can cover up years of running down the NHS when thousands of people are going to be dying as a result. 'We can count on the BBC to help cover this up' says Handjob. 'They are totally cowed and will eat shit to avoid upsetting us. And if the Labour shower raise it we get our newspapers, the Mail, the Express, the Daily Telegraph, the Sun and The Times, to accuse them of being unpatriotic and get the Guardian to run a few stories about Labour being anti-Semitic to distract attention. That should work. Has in the past. One problem is that we are probably going to have to put our plans to finish privatising the NHS on hold for a while. The virus is likely to make doctors and nurses popular for at least a few months, which reminds me, no one must mention how we froze nurses pay. The fact is that the NHS will be too popular to risk selling it off to the Americans at least for a while, but there you go.

No Pity Patel is put in charge of trying to find some way to blame the virus on the Windrush Generation and if that doesn't work the Grenfell Tower survivors. Once again our newspapers will have a crucial role to play here. The Sun is already working this story up for us.

At last they get to Education. Boss Williamson hands over to me. 'The big issue here is how to prevent the epidemic damaging the public school system on which the country depends to produce its rulers. When the schools shut, there are going to be a lot of parents wanting fees refunded and we are talking about a lot of money. Chancellor Rishi Rich has promised to find some way to secretly reimburse the public schools so they do not suffer any sort of financial hit, either through the tax system or as a hidden subsidy of some kind'.

The Chancellor speaks up: 'As a former head boy at Winchester (fees £46,000), I know the importance of this issue and obviously the Prime Minister, the twentieth Old Etonian to occupy the top job, is right behind me on this. SAVE OUR PUBLIC SCHOOLS is our mantra, but obviously no one must know about it'. The Prime Minister harrumphs in his sleep and calls out: 'Yes! Yes! More! More! Phwoar!' As for the state schools, the consensus is we'll just shut them all down and the kids can fuck off.

The Dominator shakes the Prime Minister awake. 'Wake up you useless dozy fucker. '

'What? Where am I? What's going on?'.

We are on the last agenda item. Should we let old people just die? The plus is that getting rid of half a million or more of the over sixties will save a lot of money. The minus is that they nearly all vote Tory. 'What about posthumous voting?' asks the Prime Minister. 'We've got postal voting. We can introduce posthumous voting. Apparently it kept the Unionists in power for years in Northern Ireland'. No Pity Patel agrees to get the only official at the Home Office still speaking to her working on this idea. We will get the Telegraph to float the idea, a lot of their readership is clinically dead anyway, and see how it goes.

What a genius. Johnson sleeps all through the meeting and then comes up with an idea that has the spark of brilliance to it.

The Dominator declares the BUNNY meeting over. 'OK fuckwits. The meeting is over. You can all fuck off and try not to make a balls-up of everything like you normally do.' He keeps the Prime Minister behind. 'Not you Johnson. I want a word with you. It is absolutely vital that you set an example and follow all the medical advice yourself. Under no circumstances should you contract this disease. It will make you look a total dickhead. If you go down with it, I will personally shove your genitalia up your arse'.