OH Rishi, you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind. Oh Rishi.
Can I, please, just take you away momentarily — oh most handsome of Chancellors — from your relentless schedule, trying to save our great country from calamity and collapse, to express my respect and astounding admiration for you?
It was as if you came from nowhere — one day bus driver’s son Sajid Javid was there and the next our screens were graced with the presence of what can only be described as possibly the most exquisitely beautiful man I’ve ever seen (and, granted, I’ve seen a few).
And I’m far from the only one who thinks so, what with you being voted our “hottest MP” in a recent poll.
The country has been left swooning by your unparalleled generosity in the form of a £350billion spending spree to save the economy.
And that is why six in ten of us think you are doing a good job — the highest approval rating for any Chancellor since Gordon Brown in 2005. All are tributes well deserved.
But if you’ll excuse the brief objectification, Rishi, I need you to know just how gorgeous you really are.
Has there ever been a more perfect, excellent male face — chiselled and soft in one fell swoop. Your smooth, flawless, skin envelops your utterly geometrically-pleasing features.
Your beam combines with what can only be described as the best set of gnashers in Whitehall. You have the smile of a movie star but one with the most profound and heartfelt sincerity.
It is a look of trust-worthiness and searing honesty amid a jungle of liars and self-serving pomposities.
You really are a breath of thrillingly fresh air and I love you for it.
Your wonderfully huge, brown eyes — from which there is no escape — are like two big lagoons exuding kindness, tenderness and, yes, nothing short of benediction.
I don’t mind saying that when I gaze into them, I am overwhelmed by a sense of reassurance that everything is going to be all right.
It’s hard to make out what lies beneath your suit. But I don’t think it’s too wild to guess that it’s a slender, firm and protective body — one in which I can seek shelter in these difficult economic times.
If you could, dear Rishi, just hastily but respectfully ignore the memory of your beautiful wife and angelic daughters and imagine we might have a life together.
Ignore my past three marriages, and that at 52 I’m 12 years your senior — at least for the sake of this dried-up old hasbeen’s fantasy.
I will cook for you and happily be your domestic goddess.
I will ease the burden of your economic battles in these unprecedented times and encourage your plans endlessly.
I will mop your brow as you discuss with me the division of labour, free trade and attempt to explain to me the laissez-faire economic system.
I will listen to you as you read Adam Smith’s Theory Of Moral Sentiments at bedtime and we will laugh, together, at my inability to neatly peel a boiled egg.
We both know you are PM material and I will be your biggest supporter and march the campaign trail showing nothing but awe, dedication and utter admiration.
You were born to do this because you treat everyone with kindness and respect and you have the ability to make everyone feel part of your plan.
Except for the people you just cannot help any further, but you will smile at them and make them feel blessed with warmth and love.
Although it might be true to say we women often feel attraction towards a bad boy, age and maturity has made me see the error of my ways and I am now focused on this former head boy and Stanford scholar, who has only pure intentions in his heart. And very beautiful hair.
If you don’t mind me saying, I do believe you need a Viking in your life.
As a blonde, blue-eyed Scandi, there is nothing more alluring than brown eyes and dark hair. Opposites attract, Rishi. You can’t deny that.
When I mentioned in passing, on social media, that I might carry a torch for you, it turned out many of my followers do, too.
Before I knew it, hundreds of women acknowledged their crush on Dishy Rishi.
Many described how you make them go weak at the knees.
One even threatened to fight me for you. I am not a violent person, Rishi, but I need you to know that I am familiar with handbags at ten paces. Just saying . . .
And when you announced new measures this week, including scrapping stamp duty for properties under £500,000, Twitter was alight with admiring tweets.
Some were too rude to be printed in this paper, but Toria wrote: “Super happy that just as I decide to put my house on the market Sexy Sunak is about to exempt some more buyers from stamp duty. LOVE YOU, RISHI!”
You don’t hear anyone hankering after that irritable and petulant baby Hancock. Few pine for that faltering Raab. And who would concede they brood over Boris?
But you — you are in a league of your own. You rise above the others in all your brilliance and glory.
How on earth did we endure the likes of your predecessors — half-baked Hammond or dreary Darling?
No, you, my dear, are single-handedly bringing sexy back. Economics has never been so titillating.
As tattoo parlours are now about to open their doors, I’m considering my next inking.
And yes, it may feature you, Dishy Rishi. Lots of love, Ulrika x x x
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