Dear Tony,

Far be it from me to be patronising, but it's difficult not to be when you feel as superior as I do. Dear boy, you really aren't very good at your job, are you? I mean, what sort of chap, six and a half years in to his premiership, asks other people what he should be doing, eh? Call yourself a leader?

You may smile, Tony, most probably in that rather insincere, slightly smug manner. By the way, does your father-in-law trust you, old boy? I don't think you realise quite how clever I am and quite how stupid you would feel given half an hour in my company.

My utter contempt for you goes back a long way. I remember listening to you speak at the dispatch box, when you were Shadow Home Secretary, back in the 1990s, and I wasn't very impressed then. To be fair, you and your Party haven't really come on a lot, have you? Although I must concede that I do have a begrudging respect for that gruff Scotsman you send out to do early morning radio interviews. He's nearly as patronising as me.

To be honest, I find it very hard to be impressed with anyone I come across. One look around the office at my co-workers and even you would despair. The last three bosses we've had have been shamefully inadequate for the task in hand – the buffoons. So I've done what many people thought unimaginable...I've taken over. I always knew I would.

Now let me give you the benefit of my counsel. It is my firmly held belief – I don't hold any other – that you are mostly a good person. You have almost certainly looked evil in the eye. You have tried your best. But the dark cloak of calamity is rising inexorably over your head. The fetid fangs of failure hover tantalisingly above your neck. Your place in history is assured... only it's a bit sooner than you had hoped. Ahaahaahaahaahaa, ahhhhaaaaa!

Howard
Folkestone