URSULA von der Leyen, President of the European Commission

“LOOK, I know you’re going to ask me the key questions dominating our lives at the moment; will there be a Brexit deal, when will my mother get the Covid jag, and is it a done deal that Maisie from EastEnders will win Strictly?

All I can say for certain is I hope the posh boy from Made In Chelsea trips over his own self-entitlement. Yes, I know what you’re thinking: just because I’m from Germany’s landed gentry and my father was a top European civil servant that doesn’t mean I’m snooty.

Mein gott. I lived on London for a year in 1978. I loved the Clash and the Buzzcocks. I’m still a punkette. But you want to know if I think we’ll have a Brexit deal? One word. Boris. How can we trust him?

He’d steal the chocolate out of a kinder’s advent calendar, and given the number of kinders he’s said to have, that’s a lot of chocolate.

Yes, I have lots of kinds myself – seven in fact – and my husband and I gave them all dwarfs nicknames. But if I had to come up with a nickname for your PM, how about a word I heard Nicola use in the autumn about him. Sleekit? Is that how you say it?

He says Britain will leave and sign up to Australian Terms. Idiotie! Even the Australians don’t want Australian terms now.

Now, some think Boris and I are bester freunds, just because we went to the same international school in Brussels, and even had the same teacher. But it was not at the same time, thanks goodness.

But I really want us to have a treaty. When I was at the London School of Economics, my flatmate once attached a string of cowbells to the front door, in the hope that I might remember to close it when I’d trundle home in the early hours of the morning. Oh, I loved those punk clubs.

But my point is this; even though the Baader-Meinhof gang could have been trying to kidnap me – on account of my background – I don’t like to snib the lock until the very last minute.

And this job is not about losing members. I text Angela – she’s like a sister to me – every day, and I’m not going to admit we’ve lost the UK to a numpty –another great word I learned from Nicola.

But Nicola, don’t you be clapping like a baby seal in delight at the PM’s idiocy. If Scotland becomes independent it could take a decade before we can be together again. And the fish fight could still sink us.

Anyway, I have to go. I horse ride at the weekends back in Hanover. Just tell Alexander Boris de Pfeffel to take a Tom Cruise pill and chill out.

And I’m crossing my fingers for Maisie in Strictly.

As told to Brian Beacom