It was a black day when I took a shit. Blacker than 9/11 or when Lady Di had an accident in that French tunnel. Blacker than 7/7, Boris Johnson and when some little bastard grafittied the word 'CUNT' on the front door of one of those fabulous apartments I bought for Ewen when he was studying at Bristol University.
It was the day Noel and Liam Gallagher turned up at number 10 to help celebrate Cool Britannia or something. I'm not sure Liam was even there. I was so off my tits on Angel dust which I had just shared with Banksy or the bloke who cuts cows in half that I didn't have a fucking clue what was going on.
But I remember Noel though. That big, hairy bastard monobrow of his, proper freaked me out. I thought I was being attacked by a giant caterpillar every time the fucker tried to speak to me, so I kept on pretending I was a fire engine making stupid siren noises so that everyone would run to the window to see what shit was going down outside.
Anyway, whilst I was playing a practical joke on Gordon Brown by writing 'I'm a one-eyed wanker' on that stupid briefcase he kept on carrying for the budget, I noticed something lying on the floor underneath my desk in my office. It was Cherie and by the looks of it she'd certainly been on the 'sherry' all day.
So I says to her 'What's up doll?' and she replies, 'Tone, it aint working out is it. You and me I mean. It just aint happening anymore.'
And then she starts crying so I says 'What do you mean it aint happening? You know I love you more than anything. More than Alistair Campbell, more than Jesus... well maybe not that much but you'll always be my number one sweet cheeks.'
Now she's crying even more and she blubs, 'I know you fucking love me you stupid twat but since you've been Prime Minister or whatever it is you do, we haven't had sex and I can't take it anymore. I'm a woman and I have womanly desires. I just want you to grab me and throw me over your desk and treat me like the piece of shit that I am.'
Then she runs out of the room.
I just stood there for a couple of minutes in shock. I felt a weird sensation in my stomach as though someone had just punched me in the kidneys. I thought it was the shock of what Cherrie had just told me but then I realized that the stomach cramps were bought on by that huge mound of charlie I'd just shoved up my bugle ten minutes ago, and now I needed to relieve myself on the Almighty Throne of Tone.... or the downstairs toilet at Number 10 as most people would know it.
I remember waiting outside the toilet whilst David Bowie or Paul McCartney or the lead singer out of D-Ream was in there injecting smack or whatever popstars do. I banged on the door and shouted 'Fucking hurry up in there, the Prime Minister has a crisis he needs to attend to and if he doesn't do it now, some serious shit is gonna go down.... down his fucking trouser leg and all over the carpet of Number 10.'
I'm a funny cunt sometimes even if no one else thinks so.
The toilet door opens and out stumbles Bob Geldof and a couple of groupies. He's all over the shop. His fly is undone and there's spunk all down his leather trousers. But he's got a huge grin on his face and he's singing 'It's Christmas Time in Big Bobbies underpants.' And then he says 'Alright Tone, just doing my bit for Comic Relief and all that. You know what a charitable guy I am so I just relieved myself all over these two little dolly birds. It wasn't really comedy but I fucking had a great time doing it.'
So I says 'Fuck off you Irish cunt I'm fucking touching cloth here'
I dived into the toilet, locked the door, dropped my trousers and took the shit of all shits. The king of all shits. The Prime Minister of all shits. Man it was a shit to remember which is why I'm writing about it in my memoirs.
But shortly after the last klingon had finally lost its grip on my arse hairs I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of despair. I suddenly realised what Cherie had said to me back in my office and she was right. I hadn't given her a good seeing to since I became the PM. No wonder she was upset the poor little darling.'
There was only one thing to do and that was to make it up to her there and then. So I wiped my arse, pulled up my pants and walked into the room where all the guests were congregated.
'Ok everyone' I said in my poshest voice, 'the party's over as I've got a country to run.'
'Now piss off the lot ofs yer apart from you Cherrie. There's something I need to do to you...sorry say to you right now.'
And as all the popstars and artists left to a chorus of wolf whistles and cries of 'Get in there my son' I picked Cherrie up in my arms and led her into my office.
You can read what happened after that here.