A pale, watery sun crept through the window. Autumn was nearly here. About time, thought Rishi Sunak. The summer had been a total disaster. He’d tried to take charge of the media grid but had been rewarded with one bad headline after another. He’d have been better off doing nothing at all and giving himself and the country a break. This last week had been no exception. It had started with Nadine Dorries’s resignation. About time but he hadn’t banked on an 1,800-word letter slagging him off in the Mail on Sunday. She’d even taken a pop at his shoes. What was wrong with them? Didn’t everyone shop at Prada? In hindsight he’d badly misjudged the extent of her crush on Boris. The woman was totally besotted. Dazzled by his lies. Then there was her entitlement. Somehow expecting a peerage for being a crap MP and a worse culture secretary. Maybe he should have just put her in the Lords and have done with it. Just to get her off his back. Then there had been Theresa May’s deranged new book. The Maybot seriously believed she had gone out of her way to try to deliver a Brexit that was acceptable to the 48% who had voted remain. Er hello! She had only insisted on a hard Brexit right from the off. Had never even considered staying in the single market and the customs union. Not that he cared. He’d always been in favour of a hard Brexit. But that was beside the point. Theresa was meant to represent the sensible side of the Tories. Only it turned out she was just as delusional as the rest of them. Making the party look out of touch and unelectable. That was his job. That had just been the start. Then he’d allowed himself to be talked into letting Suella Braverman do radio and TV interviews to kick off the totally pointless crime-themed week. He should have insisted the home secretary remain on holiday. No one could make a bad situation worse quite like her. It had been a total car crash. First off she had insisted that from now on the police were going to investigate every crime thoroughly. Even a stolen phone. FFS. What kind of idiot was she? Reminding everyone that under the Tories the police scarcely got round to investigating murder and rape. Especially when these crimes were committed by the police. And it was just a joke to think the police were really going to spend hours on every burglary and car theft. How was that going to work? How many police did she think there were? On second thoughts, don’t ask. Suella had been under the impression that if you sack 20,000 officers and then recruit 23,000 more then you have 23,000 more than you had in the first place. She’d also totally forgotten that fraud counted as a crime. There again, so had he. Best to ignore all those dodgy PPE contracts during the pandemic. Still at least Suella had been a bit more clued up when asked about refugees on the Bibby Stockholm. It was completely unrealistic for asylum seekers to expect their accommodation to pass health and safety requirements. After all, if they were prepared to cross the Channel in small boats they could hardly expect to live for ever. Besides, it was just the lefty unions making trouble. What kind of person would want to become a firefighter anyway? Putting yourself in harm’s way to protect others. That wasn’t the Conservative way. And the home secretary had been crystal clear about her desire to leave the ECHR. Quite right. What the country needed was strong leadership. Like Russia and Belarus. And that was about the end of crime week unless you counted the reannouncement of the reannouncement on zombie knives. Even Rish! knew that was scraping the barrel. And the last few days had been just as much of a shambles. A helicopter trip to Norwich to announce a relaxation in environmental rules for housebuilding. Didn’t people appreciate how difficult it had been to secure a flight slot from air traffic during the current chaos? He had had to pull rank and remind everyone he also needed to drop in at Waitrose for the weekly shop. As for the green stuff, it had been just a lot of fuss about nothing. He and Michael Gove had had to remind people that the freedom to pollute our rivers was just another Brexit bonus. Besides which it made far more sense for the government to stump up for some of the environmental costs rather than make the polluter pay. After all, these 130,000 new houses were almost certainly never going to be built. Then he’d had the foreign secretary pestering him all week to allow him to go to China. James Cleverly would do anything for another long-haul trip on the government plane. He loved the smell of the white leather seats up front. In the end, Rish! had given in. Anything for a quiet life. He’d made Jimmy Dimly promise to bring up human rights and Taiwan in return. “Mumble mumble mumble mumble,” Jimmy had said to the Chinese. “What’s that?” the Chinese had asked. “Oh nothing.” The UK. Leading the way in international diplomacy again. Just then, Sunak received a letter from Ben Wallace informing him he was resigning as defence secretary. He wanted out of politics. Couldn’t blame him. But that reminded him. He was supposed to be doing a mini-reshuffle. Who to replace Ben? There just wasn’t any talent left in the Tory ranks. So he supposed it would have to be Grant Shapps. He’d had four cabinet posts in the last year so a fifth wouldn’t hurt. That he’d never expressed any interest in defence and was a known conman with several aliases might even be a plus. “Do you promise to be loyal and do what I want?” he had asked the Shappster. “Of course,” Grant had nodded. “Up until the time when I stab you in the back.” That just left the energy and net zero job to fill. Claire Coutinho could do that. She too was loyal and knew nothing about the brief. Ideal. He could do with more inexperience. Sunak eased his Savile Row suit back into his chair. He was feeling dissatisfied. He was the Boy Prince. The country should be more grateful for his existence. After all he had done to get growth to a massive 0.2%. His agenda for the autumn would be one of hope. Making people hope that they would somehow not go broke in the next year. Making people hope they wouldn’t die on an NHS waiting list. Get everyone waiting on a miracle. Him included. An inspiration to us all. Depraved New World by John Crace (Guardian Faber, £16.99). To support The Guardian and Observer, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.