The day the prime minister came to my house.

A couple of years ago, I had to pick my daughter up from a party. She came out with three other girls and I agreed to drop them all off home. I dropped one in Islington and the next day, I notice she’s left her purse in the car. My daughter texts her and the girl says her dad will come and pick it up. About twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings and there’s Boris Johnson, come to collect his daughter’s purse. Yes, I know he’s not the Prime Minister but when I keep repeating this story in a few years’ time, he will be. He’s just announced that he’s to stand as an MP at the next election, so here we go. Love him or loathe him, he’s ferociously bright, fiendishly ambitious and trust me, he will be Prime Minister. No artists called Boris but here are two called Johnson.