Monday

Gavin Williamson calls, sounding smug and annoying.

“How were the lions?” he asks.

I tell him I didn’t see any. Because I cut short my safari holiday in order to come home and deal with the major incident of the migrant crisis.

“Rumour has it I fought a lion once,” says Gavin. “Bare handed. To save a supermodel.”

“Rumour?” I say. “What? Did you or didn’t you?”

Gavin says he couldn’t possibly say.

“But friends of Gavin Williamson,” he adds, “have refused to deny it. You know how these things spread.”

“Was there something you wanted?” I ask.

Gavin says yes, actually, and it was to say he could lend me some boats. To deal with the migrant thing.

“But I haven’t asked for