Live on Fakebook, Issue 1512
I would like to thank the people of this great country of ours for putting their trust in me. The sceptics and the naysayers and the doomsters and gloomsters didn't believe that we would triumph, but as we say oop North, in the Tory heartlands , there's nowt so queer as bumboys. This really is a new Jennifer – sorry, Dawn. Or is it Hope? Never very good on details.
Anyway, whatever her name is, it's a new day, a new beginning and a new government. Well, newish, we've only been in power for ten years, which is just a fraction of the time that I intend to be World King , or is it Prime Minister? Details, details.
So may I thank in particular the good people of Oop North and indeed those in the constituency of Oop South, not to mention Oop Central, who, though not natural Tories, decided to lend me their vote. As tripe lovers, they saw something in me that they liked the look of.
And the key to this election is that we didn't patronise them. Those blunt-speaking, no-nonsense Workington class men and women voted with their clogs, chained up their whippets outside t'polling station, and put t'cross in t 'box, then went home and tucked ferrets into t'trousers.
(Is this right Dominic? I sound like I've got a bloody stutter. You've got a castle in Durham – you know how those black pudding munchers speak, don't you?)
Anyway, when the results came out and they saw that a down-to-earth former head of Pop at Eton had won, they all said at once “OE bah gum!” Which is Yorkshire for “We hate Corbyn”…