Super conference! Amazing response to my non-floral new dress, reminding people to think seriously about disposable items. Wake up!
Nervous, but Stanley said “just keep hold of him, dear girl”, so Bozzie never left my side, except when he had to run and save a drowning kitten in the middle of the night. Poor Bozzieboy, his hair was soaking wet!
So excited to experience immersive at the iconic 02 venue, dancing to Does Your Mother Know? when poor Bozzie texts he’s held up ruling. Rush home to tell him he missed Our Song! Hear this horrific cackling.
Me: “It’s true, I knew it!”
B (fastening trousers, closing laptop): “Donnez moi un break, old thing, can’t a fellow admire Jennif – I mean, a complete stranger speaking up so pass – I mean, proprietously, for women and girls? I say, Ottiewottie, how about our own massive Boris pole soaring from here to Camberwell, I’ll tell Heatherwick to – ouch! Get off my fucking laptop, calmez down or – cripes Ottie, now you’ve torn –”
Dom’s door opens. “Give.” Put laptop in his claw. Somewhere in the darkness Dilyn’s whimpering. At least he’s alive.
B: “Honestly Dom, we were just re-enacting Thermopylae, weren’t we Ottie, and –”
Dom: “Quit whining, tell the girl to fuck off and get in here, fuckwit. This very night you will witness the beginning of the end of the beginning of the end of the beginning of the Toilet Phase.”
B: “Toilet! I say Dom, you are a genius. What does it mean?”
The door closes. Press my ear against Dom’s latest sign (“Conservative HQ – strictly no Tories”).
Dom: “Translated into moronese, Johnson, it means ‘get me Forsyth’.”
As told to Catherine Bennett
