Cripes, 2016 - what happened? If you'd told Old Bozzer twelve months ago that Britain would be leaving the EU, Mr Trump would be the President of the United States, and yours truly would be Foreign Secretary, I'd say "Give me a bloody pen! Where do I sign?"
What larks 2017 is going to be. I'm quite looking forward to visiting our new Overlord Trump. We can swap notes on hairdressers. And it'll be a nice change from trying to sell fish and chips to European trade ministers.
The chaps and chappesses at Team Boris are having a busy year too. They're off on tour! Like Caesars of old, they will stride across geographical boundaries like collossuses (blast, too many s's). Unlike Caesar, they'll be wedged into a Ford Focus - but glorious it will be nevertheless! You can find all the marvellous info here.
But before they embark on all those jolly japes, you can catch them at the Library Theatre in Sheffield (20th & 21st of Dec) doing their thing once more - including a preview of "Trump - the Musical!" Reserve your very own seat on the Tickets page!*
Well, I suppose all that remains for me to say is have a lovely Christmas. I'll be fighting over the remote control at Chevening, but I reckon there's a few tricks I learnt at Eton that'll scare David Davis off (head, meet toilet, you get the idea.) And I wish you all an Armageddon free 2017 (though I for once can't guarantee it).
*all seats must be returned after the performance. Fair's fair.
My friends, we did it! Well, mainly me. But without you who would have been there to applaud me? Exactly. A greater team effort hasn't been seen since Caesar and Mark Anthony.
Ah, but in serious serioussus, a big hearty Bozza thanks to you all for coming along. I do hope you enjoyed it. And from the standing ovation (no, really - ed.) I shall assume you did. Here's (most of) Team Boris all looking justifiably cheerful after the final performance. A nicer and hard working bunch, you could not hope to meet. Not in Government anyway. I don't want to be indiscreet but that Liam Fox, let me tell you...
Team Boris will be back with more shows later in the year. Until then, do let us know what you thought on the social media bobbins. Or join the Blowfish Theatre mailing list.
Well, if that wasn't maximus laborious. A five hour tech rehearsal! For a one hour show! Team Boris really are taking things to a whole new level. I actually left, dear reader, half way through. I'm not getting paid for this nonsense and the level of detail from "Director" Kyle Williams was bordering on the absurd. The man was cueing every light for this concocted miscellany of balderdash like he was in the West End. Mark my words - that young man is going places. A place with secure walls and trained medical staff.
I'm told they got there in the end and, all in all, were very pleased with the result. Apparently, the lustrous shine that technician Sadie manages to shimmer off my blond tresses is really quite something to behold. You have to see it to believe it - which you can, if you reserve your seats here!
Well, golly, Miss Molly. Team Boris has only gone and done their first show. And what a corker! They weren't laughing in the aisles. But only because the venue didn't have any. I did see a chap almost fall of his seat. And one lady had tears in her eyes, though that may have been because I was sitting next to her.
Team Boris' unconventional rehearsal technique (of actually rehearsing rather than the true Bozzer method of "wing it on the day") paid great dividends. Good times were had by all, observers and performers alike.
Pre-show, I got the crowd all worked up into a hoppy lather downstairs at the marvellous Doncaster Brewery. Here I am, doing my man of the people, didn't go to Eton and Oxford at all, politician act...
And here's some of the gang on the way back to Sheffers celebrating in the official, definitely-not-a-Ford-focus "Team Boris" Van.
My friends, as the sort of fellow who believes in winging it on the day, I've been a bit shocked at how much effort Team Boris is putting into rehearsals. When I played Richard III at Eton, I just taped up my lines to either side of the stage and ran back and forth between them. Everyone thought it was hilarious. But, apparently, what's good for the Bozzer is not good for the gander. (Team Boris - ed.) These chaps do things more than once till they get it right. And then some of them even want to do it again. Honestly, they rather remind me of Michael Psyho Gove. Very keen they all are. Too keen. Something's not right...
Crikey. What a day! I haven’t work so hard since the referendum campaign. Actually, that was a darn sight easier. I didn’t have to remember anything. They just pushed me on stage and I made stuff up. But this? There’s lines to learn. Places to stand. Cues to remember. It’s all a bit much, quite frankly. Who’s idea was this anyway.
*Boris paces back and forth in front of a mirror*
Only a week to go now, old boy, before we take Doncaster by storm like Pericles’ shook Athens! Then onto Sheffield, Steel City! You can do it. One last push. Time to charge at this beast like you’re rugby tackling a small child to the ground. Onwards, Bozzer!
My friends, last night everyone in Team Boris watched me, Boris, talk about myself (Boris) on a really very large cinema screen. If I say so myself, which I do, it was bloody marvellous. Even David “Call me Dave” Cameron had to admit I looked really quite splendid.
The thing about watching oneself on a really very large cinema screen is that one gets to focus on all the things that make you, you. And Mr Burchhardt, who really is coming on as an actor, I have to say, managed to fill that really very large cinema screen with an awful lot of Me. And I can only think that is a very good thing. Keep up the good work, David! (Burchhardt, not Cameron.)
It all got a bit much for Team Boris last night. Channelling all that potent Bozzer energy almost polished off the young pretender, David Burchhardt.
But they were soon back on their feet, finding time to film a trailer, sing like coked-up choir boys, and rehearse a scene where I metamorhphose from Boris into Super Mayor! Kapow! Please, call me Captain Boris.
Yes, my friends, Team Bozzer know the great truths of our classical forebears. Did Themistocles quake at the overwhelming Persian force at Thermopylae? Did Churchill pack it all in during our darkest hour? Did I throw in the towel after my reckless referendum gamble horribly backfired? Yes. Yes, I did. But as soon as I got that call from Teresa making me Foreign Sec, I was back on my feet. Bozzer Bozzer Bozzer!
At one point last night, Team Boris appeared to be dancing round in some sort of fairy ring. Then it become unmentionably apparent just what sort of ring it was! Truly, my friends, if I knew the sordid things I got up to at Eton would ever see the light of day, I would have strived to make them more theatrical. As it is, all this “playwright”, Mr Peacock, has to offer is a decomposing pile of innuendic protoplasm. Poor show. Literally.
In other news, Michael “the snake” Govey whipped up a storm last night, inspiring the people - well, Kyle, the “director” - with the passion of Brexit! On he struts, gospel-gowned, hands raised high, preaching the joys of Leave. It’s quite the act. You could almost believe he believed it. Just like I believed he was a decent fellow and not a venomous little toad.
Still, we live and learn. Except for Govey. Now I’ve got some powerful exotic friends at the Foreign Office, he might just find his tea comes with extra radiation. Milk, Govey? Sugar? How about polonium…?
Cripes, it's all jolly exciting, watching Team Boris hard at work portraying yours truly. Though, I must say, I think that David chap needs to watch himself. I shan't repeat what he said I said, because even though I did say it, it's one thing for a fellow to say something, entirely another for him to have to watch another chap pretending to be him, saying exactly what he did say. If he isn't careful, Mr Burchhardt (ridiculous name) might get a visit from some friends of my friend, Darius.
Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes, the show. It's got some cracking songs in, especially that one about "Me and My Johnson". Never let it be said old Bozza can't take a joke.
Only one mind - and frankly there's quite a few in this piece of "theatre". In my day, theatre was Shakespeare. Histories! Tragedies! Romances! I trod the boards, my friends, in my school days. A born performer, they said, even if I couldn't remember the lines. Fortunately, this lot don't seem to be having that problem.
Today they were working on a song called "Posh Lads!" which, in its stereotypical and on-the-nose depiction of privilege and entitlement, borders on the offensive. Juvenal it ain't! In fact, juvenile would be closer to the mark. Still, all publicity is good publicity.
Right, if you'll excuse me, I've a Telegraph column to dash off. I'm trying to get my hourly rate up to £17,000. Cheerio.