Red smoke rose from the exalted chimney of number 10 downing street – sir Keith Starmer, 63, was dead (politically).

His downfall came quickly and out of the blue, like a very fast and quick fish. Sir Keith came quickly out of the front door looking pretty depressed, and the paps didn’t even care enough to take a picture of him crying, because he was just another nobody now. And he wasn’t even prime minister.

The new PM was just stepping off his Megabus from Shagaluf with his entourage, decked out in custom Norf FC football shirts. Andy “the Norverner” Burnham had “Norvern” written on his. His legs were branded red by the Shagaluf sun, he had all bits of curry sauce down his t shirt and a can of Timothy Taylor in each hand.

Him and his mates all surrounded Sir Keith and called him a nonce, pushing him down into the gutter where he belonged, telling him that nobody even likes him.

Even though he was half cut, Burn wanted to take the mic to mark the start of his premiership. He was as gracious as possible about his predecessor, given the circumstances.

“Kid Starver… was a right proper nonce, weren’t ‘e. E’ was a Tory in red pyjamas… and… anyway… I’m the lad in charge now so… So yer all gonna be seein some fockin changes round ‘ere. Big fockin changes.” Then he stumbled off into the lobby of number 10 in his flipflops.

Sir Keith cut a dejected figure as he departed from Downing Street. One of Burnham’s heavies had nicked his jacket and trousers, and someone had written “POFTER” on the back of his shirt.

The new PM has launched an inquiry into why such a soft girls blouse was left in charge in the first place.