Rishi Sunak checked his WhatsApps. There was a message from his chief of staff. Adam Tolley’s report into the Dominic Raab bullying allegations had arrived by email. Could he give it the once-over. Shouldn’t take that long. After all, 24 civil servants couldn’t all be wrong. Could they? This was the moment Sunak had been dreading. Why on earth had he ever said he would govern with “professionalism, integrity and accountability”? How could he have been such an idiot? Somehow he had just got a bit carried away. After all, it had been his first day in the job and he thought it was the sort of thing that people were expecting after Boris Johnson and Liz Truss. But now he had been in the job for six months, he had come to realise there was a great deal more to being prime minister than integrity. After taking several deep breaths, Rish! made his way to his desk and clicked on his emails. There it was. He started reading. How could so many people have got his dear friend Psycho so badly wrong? Dom didn’t have problems with anger management. That throbbing vein in his forehead was merely a sign he was enjoying himself. Dom was just your regular fun guy. Shouting at people and kicking over wastepaper baskets was just bantz. To know him is to love him. It got worse. How come no one in any of the departments Psycho had worked in had been able to appreciate what a lovely guy he was? OK, so he might have killed one or two people in his day – but that was just high spirits gone a little bit too far. And who hadn’t got a bit carried away from time to time? Sunak couldn’t have his deputy fired just because a few snowflakes couldn’t take a joke. Especially as he was a mate. Hell, what was wrong with civil servants these days? Bloody wokerati. Bursting into tears just because Dom had screamed at them for 10 minutes while throwing bits of tomato all over their desk. Oooh. So one or two had been physically sick because Psycho had put his fist through their computer screens for using the wrong font size on one of the departmental briefings. They should be thrilled to be working for a perfectionist. Not shit-scared. It was tricky, though. Because although Sunak knew the Raabster was just a harmless pussycat, the ministerial code was quite clear. For some reason, civil servants expected to be able to go to work and be treated with dignity and respect. Even when they clearly hadn’t earned it. Just then there was the sound of a front door being kicked in. Moments later a sweaty Raab forced his way into the prime minister’s office. He stood in front of Sunak’s desk, his mouth opening and closing without saying anything. He then ripped off his jacket and shirt to expose his glistening pecs. He dropped into 100 one-arm press-ups before punching a hole in the wall. Only then could he bring himself to speak. “Who the fucking fuck is calling me a bully?” said Psycho. Sunak tried not to look too intimidated. Amazing how quickly he switched from Dennis the Menace to his natural Cuthbert Cringeworthy. “Er. No one,” Rish! stammered anxiously. “I mean, not me, for certain. Well, not yet anyway. Possibly never. Though everyone you’ve ever worked with seems to have a different view.” Psycho climbed on to the desk and stared down at the prime minister. “Do I look like a bully? Do I? How lucky do you feel, punk?” “Oh very … Um, a little … Not much … And you definitely don’t look anything like a bully. Just my cuddly old mucker, Dom. But we do have a problem …” “You’re the one with problems sunshine,” yelled Psycho. With that, he grabbed Sunak by the hair and dragged him to the toilets. Shoving his head down the bowl and flushing repeatedly. “I’ll show you what bullying really looks like.” “Gosh, yes.” said Sunak. “My hair did need a wash.” “I’m sorry, I don’t know quite what came over me,” Raab mumbled apologetically. “I’m not normally like this.” “Yes you are,” observed more than two dozen civil servants. “That’s the point.” “Anyway,” said Rish! “Back to the problem … The problem is that one civil servant claims you hacked her puppy to death with a machete …” “It wasn’t a machete. It was a zombie knife that I’d confiscated from a drug dealer …” “Leave Michael Gove out of it …” “And I did everyone a favour. The dog wouldn’t stop yapping. Plus it was just a bit of fun. People get squeamish at the sight of blood in the office these days.” “Mmm.” “Well, I tell you one thing. I’m not going to resign. You and I both know that I’ve done nothing. Don’t we, sonny? So don’t even think of trying to sack me. Suella and the Tory right wing will never let you forget it if you do. You’ll never take me alive.” Psycho picked up his shirt and strode out of the room. Rish! leant back in his chair and started sobbing. He didn’t have a clue what to do. He wanted to clear Dom. But he knew it would make him look shit. The public had long-since identified Raab as a wrong ’un and knew he was bang to rights. So Sunak did what he always did when confused. Nothing. Maybe he’d feel braver tomorrow.