Dear Keir: I’m hard-working and details-oriented. I could manage the hell out of Waitrose

Hullo Britain. Despite my valiant attempts at a fightback, there’s a definite “end of days” vibe in No 10. I’ve seen it described as “Starmergeddon”, “Starmerdämmerung”, and “the apo-Keir-lypse”. Now that I’m wounded, people are queueing up to take chunks out of me.

The Spectator published a ludicrous hit piece claiming I’m completely incurious, have no hinterland and don’t read. This last claim is the maddest: in the past year, I’ve devoured Arsène Wenger’s autobiography, Dennis Bergkamp’s autobiography and The Little Book of Arsenal Legends.

I still have a handful of defenders, though. My biographer, Tom Baldwin, recently praised my resilience, telling Andrew Marr that I’ve “taken more blows to the head than any man should and survived”. While I appreciate his support, the wording raises the spectre of brain damage. Tom once described me as “an ordinary bloke doing an extraordinary job”. In my darker moments, I wonder if that’s the problem. Maybe a prime minister should have something about them.

But no, I’m being too harsh on myself. I’m not some dullard. Quite the opposite – I’m the UK’s leading agony uncle. Would a nonentity write a newspaper column? Of course not. Let’s get to your questions…

Dear Keir, it feels like nothing ever goes right for me. Setbacks keep piling up, eroding my self-confidence. How can I escape this doom loop?

Thessaly, Ormskirk

Hi Thessaly, I know how you feel. Sometimes my government seems cursed. We appointed not one but two paedophile-philes. We dropped plans to delay local elections after a legal challenge from Nigel Farage – embarrassing for a barrister PM. Plus, the Palestine Action ruling went against us. We spend more time appealing in court than appealing to the public. Another U-turn and we’re destined for the U-bend.

It’s been a run of bad luck. But instead of catastrophising – or acknowledging that the common factor in all these disasters is me – I focus on pragmatic solutions. As I told Jeremy Vine this week, I’m a “common sense merchant”. So what if no one’s buying? Point is, I’ll do whatever it takes to get this country back on track. Except pull the big lever labelled “resign”.

Allies urge me to “let Keir be Keir”. When I figure out what that is, I’ll give it a go. In any case, I won’t be diverted from my sensible course. Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results is the definition of sanity. So take heart, Thessaly – just cling to the belief that everything will sort itself out.

Dear Keir, I made what seemed like an exciting career change, but now I’m burned out and depressed. How can you tell if you’re in the wrong job?

Russell, Frittenden

Russell, you’re not the first person to chase an exciting new role only to find it’s torture. That can happen to the best of us. Maybe – through no fault of your own – this job isn’t a fit. Some skills aren’t transferable, and what’s good for the goose isn’t always good for the gander. For instance, one might be an effective director of public prosecutions and an unmitigated flop as prime minister. I’m not saying that’s ever happened, just that it’s possible.

To figure out if the job’s for you, I suggest making a list of your strengths and weaknesses. Take me for example: I’m hard-working, detail-oriented and calm under pressure. I could manage the hell out of a Waitrose! What I’m less good at is abstract thinking. Or communication. Or knowing what I actually want. I thrive in jobs with a clear set of rules, but struggle when I have to make them up myself. Fortunately, it hasn’t proved an issue during my time in Downing Street.

And that’s all for this week. Sorry if I seem a little grumpy – I’ll admit my record unpopularity weighs on me. It’s starting to affect my day-to-day. For instance, there’s the endless heckling. Just this morning I was getting into my prime ministerial car when someone shouted: “Starmer, you son of a…” My bodyguard shut the door, so I didn’t catch the final word (I assume it was “toolmaker”). Still, from the heckler’s tone, it’s clear this wasn’t meant as a compliment.

Yours long-sufferingly,

Keir xxx