By a twist of fate, Theresa May’s latest email to her agent somehow appeared in our inbox. . . .

HELLO. You’ll be aware that European chaos is with us. After three years of battling we’re in exactly the same place three years on. Except those beastly insurrectionists in Scotland are even stronger.

And isn’t this a perfect time to release my memoirs?

Now, I know you’ve said before that the prospect of The Life and Times of Theresa May may not send publishers giddy with excitement. But I’m confident they’ll advance me more than the £800k they’ve given to the twit who created this farce in the first place.

And here’s why: Cameron’s tome will feature a little mea culpa, some self-reflection and perhaps a few pig tales. But I won’t be taking this position at all. No one really knows what makes Theresa May tick, and after this book comes out they’ll know even less. They’ll hear me declare myself to be a feminist, yet choose Walk Like A Man for a Desert Island Discs choice with Kirsty. They’ll hear me declare undying love for Dancing Queen, yet dance as though I’m hearing it for the first time. They will fail to explain why I’d outpour nonsensical statements such as “Brexit means Brexit” and “No deal is better than a bad deal.” They’ll be left to wonder if the fact I lost my voice so often was because I’d nothing to say.

Yes, I will convince the world I’m even more enigmatic than I am, thanks to my natural disconnection. Take my farewell speech; who else but me could have the nerve to compare my search for Brexit compromise to the valour of Sir Nicholas Winton, the kindertransporter and his efforts to rescue Jewish children from the Nazis?

My USP is my lack of empathy. Just remember how this was so wonderfully illustrated when it looked as though I’d gone AWOL in the aftermath of Grenfell.

What publishers will also love is absolute lack of clarity in my writing. As you know, I can talk till the cows come home about “burning injustices” in our society, although I’ve never actually tackled any, and being a vicar’s daughter and regular churchgoer, I can invoke rather elegiac terms. As a self-styled “one-nation Conservative” I can fail to explain what this means, or indeed how I could never hope to reach an agreement with the DUP, despite pouring £1 billion worth of scented bath oils into Arlene Foster’s tub of political chicanery, then watch it go down the plug hole.

Yes, publishers will wonder how much I will reveal about my early days. Well, I will reveal I was once a child of Oxfordshire, and have the Kodak Brownie pics to prove it. And I did what every young girl does, except for the fun and naughtiness, and messing about with boys. But I did once run wild in a field of wheat. (Oh, when I’m sipping G&T with Philip in the library while listening to Elgar I still get a little frisky just thinking about it.) And being the vicar’s daughter, we did have great fun at night sitting around the table talking about Creationism, almost spilling our Ovaltine at times as we giggled over the merits of Judeo-Christian values as an ethical or theological concept.

As for Oxford University days? Well, the lack of boyfriends, pre-Philip, and the lack of a gang of friends, will only serve to heighten curiosity. Such a brilliant lack of adventure. But I did tell a friend once I would be the first female Conservative Prime Minister. Okay, I was a little late for that one, but it does indicate how I was more about ambition than the ideology one might attach to such intent.

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Yes, I know you’ve mentioned before that anything I write is likely to be duller than Norman Fowler’s Ministers Decide, or Nigel Lawson’s The View from No 11. And while it’s true I won’t bring a lightness of touch of, say, the colourfully-jumpered Giles Brandreth, or even that hormonal bedhopper Alan Clark, the lack of content will be illuminating.

As for Westminster, I’ll be leaving it to others to work out to guess that my ascent through the ranks was more about hard work than remarkable intelligence. As you know I was never into small talk, no gossiping with the girls, which freed me from having to create an opinion. This allows me to say exactly what I like in my memoir about anybody, which of course is nothing, because I don’t have a strong feeling either way.

What’s going to be so wonderful about this book is the world will be left to wonder how I managed to represent a nation after having offered little more than a horrific immigration policy.

Readers will wonder if it’s because I have enough self-belief to suggest I may suffer from Reverse Imposter Syndrome. But publishers may pick up on my real success stories. I make my own pasta from scratch. And I was able to induce 36 ministerial resignations in just over a year, 50 since I took over in 2016. And I found myself deserted by the troops, becoming the General Melchett of the Conservative Party.

Yes, the public will love my legacy. Brexit was always going to be difficult to deliver, and I was extremely successful in having this belief confirmed.

I’m thinking around a £1 million advance. Or should it be more?