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.