‘I could hear the Camerons sniggering at us’ – Sarah Vine’s How Not to Be a Political Wife, digested by John Crace

‘Meeting Michael opened my eyes to a whole new social whirl …’ Illustration: Edith Pritchett/The Guardian

I thought long and hard for three seconds about writing this memoir. I’ve not done so to settle old scores but because I want to settle old scores. A chance to relive broken friendships, dirty deals and to unconsciously act out my passive-aggressive fantasies on my ex-husband. In taking myself down I will take down most of those around me. Put simply, I am the former Westminster Wag with no fucks left to give.

It is still dark when I open my eyes. It’s the early morning of Friday, 24 June 2016. My phone rings. It’s one of the special advisers. “We’ve won,” he says. “Gosh,” I reply. I had better wake Michael up. Michael had gone to bed early the previous night having drunk two-thirds of a jeroboam of claret.