The secret blog of Dom Cummings, aged 13 3/4

Nov 11th

Now I know I'm an intellectual. I saw Malcolm Muggeridge on the TV last night and I understood nearly every word. It all adds up. Self-regard, no friends, not liking punk. I think I will join the library and see what happens

Nov 12

Our Labrador ‘Contra’ is back from the vets. It keeps licking its stitches, so I sit with my back to it as I don’t like to look at shaved dog testicles when I’m having my massive thoughts. Mother made it a bed out of one of the cardboard box

food parcels we intercepted and hid from the striking miners.

Nov 13th

I had an idea so huge this afternoon, that my brain didn’t remember any of it.

Nov 14th

Today I tipped the dog out of his box and replaced it with my four-colour retractable biro and a Sartre book which

I haven’t read because I already understand all of it. Then I pretended I’d been sacked from my job as a maverick political disruptor for the crime of doing ace banter with all my really cool mates. Our neighbour Mr Appleby shouted at me after I slammed the door the tenth time.

He is a civil servant. I don’t think I like civil servants.

Nov 15th

I have written to Malcolm Muggeridge asking him what to do about being an intellectual. I hope he writes back soon because I’m getting fed up being one on my own. I have written a poem,

and it only took me two minutes. Even the famous poets take longer than that. It is called,

'The Civil Service'

A civil servant is shouting at me,
My crime? Being an ace child prodigy.
Why is he mad about the slamming door?
Contra’s cardboard box is a metaphor.
For what? How should I know. You work it out.
I hate the civil service.

I showed it to mother, but

she shouted and said that Contra’s stitches had split.

Nov 16th

None of the teachers at school have noticed I am an intellectual yet. They will be sorry when I am famous. There is a new girl in our class. Her name is Pandora, but she likes being called ‘Box’. Don’t ask me why.