Gremlin On The Wing

Initially I was pleased. It had been great watching the senators gather to slip the blades in, his toga a ragged, bloodied shroud. By today there were fifty Tory party resignations, including three cabinet ministers. Even the members of the cabinet who hadn't bothered to resign told him he should go. Nadhim Zahawi, who replaced Rishi Sunak as Chancellor, advised Johnson to resign almost as soon as he was appointed. Quite stylish, in a bloodless way. 

Johnson, who only last week was talking about a third term, and who only yesterday was joking in Prime Minister's Question Time about the minor inconvenience of all of his ministers resigning, finally bit the bullet this morning. By 12.30 he emerged, looking, as usual, as if he'd been pulled through a hedge fund backwards, and gave as bullish, aggressive and unapologetic resignation speech as you've ever heard. He opened with what a landslide his last election win was. Which was brave, given how far his star had fallen. "Yeah, that's right, we loved you, Boris. But then you did all that STUFF. And now we're here."

He reminded us he got Brexit done (but is it done? Really? Seems like there's still a fair amount of Brexiting left to do. Almost none of it works, and you were about to break international law to shoe-horn it into some semblance of working order, while triggering a trade war). He told us how our Covid vaccine roll out was the quickest in Europe (we still ended up with one of the biggest death tolls, not to mention the billions of pounds spirited off to friend's companies in dodgy PPE contracts) how we came back to work earlier than anyone else in Europe (again, that massive death toll. No mention of his vomit-strewn booze parties, or the fact that he was fined for attending them) and that he is a friend to the people of Ukraine, and they love him. But this is cupboard love, Boris. They love you because you say you'll give them stuff. When the next Prime Minister promises them loads of drones and guns, they'll love them too. And the next Prime Minister WILL because Tories love a good war, especially a just war, and especially, especially a just war that's bloody miles away. 

Boris called the idea of changing horses midstream "eccentric" and blamed the hordes of Tory MPs resigning on "herd mentality". It was a master-class of deflection, whataboutery and a quite remarkable insight into Boris Johnson's brain. He had, in his estimation, done nothing wrong, he had been hounded  out off office by the spineless, shrinking curs who wouldn't face him, couldn't stare him down (except Michael Gove, whom he promptly sacked). He had done so much and he was only frustrated that he couldn't do more, as he had been given a mandate from the British public three years ago, and he was just about to get around to acting on it. Maybe he might build a hospital, or something. Stranger things had happened. He accepted no blame, saw nothing wrong with anything he'd said or done, and was clear that he'd been the victim of other people's jealousy, spite and short-sightedness. 

He was resigning as leader of the Conservative party but, crucially, intended to stay on as Prime Minister until a new leader could be found. That will probably be October. So we have the unusual situation of a Prime Minister announcing his resignation and not going anywhere for three months. Sixty Tory ministers have resigned now (another ten since I started writing this). 

His old cabinet members have told him to fuck off. His newly appointed cabinet members have told him to fuck off. And he's not going. He's squatting in number 10, a constant stranger to dignity. He has a perfectly good deputy Prime Minister (well, it's Dominic Raab, so...) whose job role exists solely for this sort of circumstance. But he's not going. He's hanging around and see what happens. Equally, he will, undoubtedly, continue in his attempts to destroy the country, carving it up and dishing it out to his mates. I'm reminded of that Twilight Zone episode where Bill Shatner sees a gremlin tearing up the wing of the plane he's flying in. Johnson is a wrecker, a short term defiler, a truffle pig shitting where he eats. He will destroy the country just so whoever comes after him can get nothing done: they'll still be putting out his fires five years from now. For a sexually incontinent father of forty, he doesn't seem to think about the future he's bequeathing to his children. But then they, like him, will never be poor - his porcine brood will be insulated from the worst of his excesses. But yours won't. Yours will get it in the neck, thanks to the gremlin on the wing.            

It even looks like him!