The Secret Diary of Jeremy Corbyn_A Parody by Lucien Young

Author:Lucien Young [Young, Lucien]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 41954769
Publisher: Ebury Digital
Published: 2018-09-06T00:00:00+00:00

28th May

Mrs Corbyn and I decided to spend this morning on the beach. She was keen to get out there and swim in the sea and, as such, became rather restless when I spent half an hour applying suncream (SPF 100 – you can’t be too careful with that kind of thing). Eventually we headed out and, as my darling wife splashed about in the surf, I decided to explore the shoreline. I was happily admiring some algae when suddenly a blinding pain shot up my leg. With a yelp, I looked down and saw that a small crab had gripped my toe in its pincer. Fortunately, I was able to shake it off before much damage was incurred. I’m ashamed to say I nearly picked up a stone and smashed the thing, though I soon thought better of it. I said: ‘Scuttle along, my cancrine comrade – I forgive you!’

Upon returning to the villa, I discovered that, in spite of my SPF 100, I had developed a markedly rosy complexion. While my wife has the resilience of her Mexican forebears, those born with the name Corbyn have a tendency to get sunstroke if they so much as turn on a lightbulb.

Around lunchtime, we made a Skype call to The Boy on Mrs Corbyn’s iPad. As soon as he answered, I could tell from his expression and frazzled tone that something was wrong. He said: ‘Okay, don’t get cross, but El Gato was hungry, so I gave him some milk out of the fridge. Y’know, a bowl of milk – that’s the classic meal for a cat, right?’

I said: ‘Not poor old El Gato – he’s lactose intolerant!’

He said: ‘Well, I know that now, don’t I? Anyway, he got some pretty serious diarrhoea and started running around the living room … Made a real mess.’

I let out a despairing moan. The Boy continued: ‘Yeah, it’s been pretty stressful, but now I’ve calmed him down and cleaned everything up, so you don’t need to worry.’ At this point he looked to one side, cried, ‘Oh God, he’s doing it again,’ and ended the call abruptly.

Mrs Corbyn said: ‘Well, at least he hasn’t burned the house down …’

Spent the rest of the day sightseeing, then went over to Glenn and Deborah’s rented villa for some drinks. I’m sorry to say that this was much less enjoyable than our previous evening together. Around 11 p.m., Deborah sat down beside Mrs Corbyn and began stroking her hair, while Glenn disappeared into the bedroom and emerged moments later wearing naught but a silk robe.

He said: ‘All right, why don’t the four of us get down to business?’

It emerges that husband and wife are part of the ‘swinger’ community and had, up to this point, laboured under the misapprehension that some wife-swapping was on the table. Now, I may be an open-minded individual – some of my best friends are pescatarian – but neither I nor my wife have ever taken any interest in that sort of thing.

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