Tag Archives: boris johnson

Boris Johnson – The man, the myth and the mugwump

Cast your mind back to the 30th of June 2016. Sure it was hardly an idealistic time of promise and national unity, what with Brexit’s narrow victory the week prior setting into motion over two years of hapless political bumbling that we’re somehow yet to escape from, but there was one small crumb of comfort to be had – at least Boris Johnson wouldn’t be our Prime Minister.

Having just about thrown his considerable weight behind Leave, a move which by this point is now almost universally accepted as one motivated entirely by self interest, Boris’ master-plan was oh so spectacularly undone by a move straight out of his own playbook, with Michael Gove publicly plunging a knife into the spine of his longtime confidant. That’s just how friends treat each other in the Tory party apparently.

The naively optimistic amongst us may have thought such a spectacular capitulation would spell the end of Johnson’s leadership ambitions, finally vanquishing the lingering threat of our supposedly proud nation inexplicably opting to be lead by a man who seemingly revels in his carefully crafted persona of an odious clod.

However if you’ve spent the past two years existing in blissful exile underneath the most hospitable rock you could find, this morning’s headlines will most certainly have jolted you from your slumber and back into the increasingly disconcerting reality we now occupy.

headline.PNG
Happy Sunday everyone!

Yes, Boris is indeed back in the spotlight – though in actuality he never really went away. While it’s true that he maintained a comparatively low profile upon the demise of his pseudo Churchillian dreams, he remained a familiar face in Theresa May’s cabinet; lingering in remission while maintaining an altogether disquieting facade of dutiful obedience – save for the odd not so accidental slip from the party line.

Not that anyone with even the slightest morsel of insight into the mind of Boris Johnson was especially convinced however. Boris wants to be the nation’s head honcho with the same obsessive desperation a man lost in the desert would have for a glass of water. So when the painstakingly calculated moment came to eject himself from the cabinet, with it came a feeling of freedom that, while undoubtedly bringing a great amount of relief to Boris himself, regrettably brought about a dark sense of foreboding for those with sufficient vigilance to see where this is all heading.

Sadly for Boris, the human mind has the capability for remembering events that occurred prior to the previous ten minutes. He can no longer play the fool, swanning around with the same effervescent buffoonery as before – the stage managed Benny Hill tribute simply doesn’t wash anymore and Boris is acutely aware of this.

So he’s had to change tactics. A leopard may be unable to change its spots, but that’s not a problem when said spots were painted on in the first place – and, providing the artist in question whispers enough promises of personal glory into Bojo’s ear, he’s more than happy to rent out his repulsive hide as a canvas for the highest bidder to doodle upon.

bannon
If at first you don’t succeed, sell your soul to the nearest far right propagandist.

For all his internal delusions of being the next Churchill, leading our country to victory through times of unimaginable strife, Boris is ultimately a moral blank. The surrounding pantomime brought about by his purportedly chucklesome antics has never been anything more than a vehicle by which to gain access to Number 10 – even if that means ram-raiding his way through the front door. He wants to be Prime Minister and if that means claiming the highest office in the land without a single scruple in his pocket, then so be it.

leaveeu
If you’re one of the 17.4 million, you probably don’t want this man speaking for you.

It is subsequently of little wonder that Boris hasn’t shown the slightest resistance to becoming Leave.EU’s would be leader of choice – a propagandist group with so little regard for the very notion of integrity itself, they’ll happily sit in front of a parliamentary select committee and smugly confirm that they routinely lie to everyone. Ultimately it’s of mutual benefit to both parties – Boris gets the unwavering support of a prominent social influencer while Banks and chums get themselves a media puppet with access to the highest reaches of government and beyond.

Though it’s not with this symbiotic relationship where the real problem lies, however ghastly a tag team they may be. For reasons beyond the understanding of my relatively modest intellect, Boris remains inexplicably credible to a significantly large demographic of voters. While his absurdly jingoistic twaddle may attract scorn from many corners, there remains a substantial base who see the appeal in such belligerence – still resolute in their belief that Boris Johnson is the political maverick who speaks for them and it is only through incendiary rhetoric that they’ll get the fantastical Brexit they’ve always craved. Fanciful perhaps, but the frankly astonishing power of self persuasion that comes with deep seated faith is not to be underestimated.

Those who, in spite of his galling ideological transience, continue to back Boris to the ends of the Earth are unlikely to find many arguments that sufficiently resonate in order to puncture their bubble of subservience. It’s the ‘feelings over facts’ situation all over again. Nevertheless, irrespective of its almost inevitable futility, there is one tiny question I consider worth posing to them – once Boris Johnson becomes Prime Minister, what then?

There’d likely be unbridled joy amongst his disciples at first, but this is likely to be swiftly extinguished by the practical implications of their triumph. After all, what can a man who is effectively a mouthpiece for hire really stand for?

And given that Steve Bannon is the one currently pulling his strings, we can only hope we’re never to find out.

 

 

Advertisements

Impotent chest-beating, insidious tossery and the hopeless descent into the Brexit void

With Parliament pissing off on their summer jollies for 48 days, you could be forgiven for assuming that we’d be in for a period of respite from the usual deluge of disingenuous fuckwittery flooding the political discourse with empty promises and excruciating sloganeering. However, much to everyone’s dismay, it turned out that there is one, pus laden boil on the arsecheek of humanity still lingering in the shadows to exude that familiar smog of deceit into an already tempestuous atmosphere:

fox1
Achieving the “easiest trade deal in history” is quite tricky when you’re impossibly inept.

Yes, that is the disgraced Liam Fox MP you’re witnessing above, advocating for an entirely different reality than the one of staggering complacency he attempted to portray just under a year ago. Naturally this is little more than brazen political gamesmanship designed to hoodwink the apparently unwashed into buying into an idea that will exclusively benefit Liam Fox and his cabal of independently wealthy bastards – and, on at least some perhaps superficial level, pretty much everyone is aware of this deceit. Sure, it’ll provoke howls of derision from the perpetual abyss of unbridled outrage known as social media – but it’ll soon be superseded by the next obnoxious meme or Boris Johnson accidentally poisoning an entire reservoir by way of his own rancid piss, leaving the previous beacon of contempt to inconspicuously vanish into the ether; forever escaping tangible accountability.

So far, so standard. Politicians being duplicitous scumfucks has been the case ever since they first slithered into our realm but, while our previous passivity may have led to us being played for saps on many an occasion, the hustle was nevertheless played out against a backdrop of stability. It always helps to have the safety net of economic and diplomatic security when you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing – that’s just logical.

However that’s all about to change. Not only is the aforementioned net about to be ripped away from underneath us, it’s being removed entirely at our own behest. An act of madness certainly though, rather disconcertingly, one of which the true consequences are yet to be fully understood and appreciated by the general public – myself included.

This is perfectly understandable. After all, how would we know any different? We’ve spent decades living a relatively cossetted existence which, while not exactly utopia, at least afforded us fully stocked supermarkets and a nationalised health system to stitch us back together. As a man ever hurtling towards the eternally dreaded thirty mark, it’s certainly all I’ve ever known. I can appreciate a crumbling society on a conceptual level, but it remains lost to me viscerally; a lack of experience I suspect shared by the majority.

This is probably why propagandist appeals to my elbow grease gland like the one below, have little to no effect on my ilk.

paxmanpiffle
I may be totally clueless with regards global economics, international diplomacy and basically as to how anything even works – but it’ll all be fine based on my not being alive to shoot down German fighter planes 70 odd years ago.

Yes, that’s right. Over two years on from the referendum and with the nation sliding ever towards the Brexit abyss, the level of pro-Leave debate still hasn’t evolved beyond the point of slapping an ostensibly reputable face alongside suspiciously shallow yet unmistakably cretinous platitudes.

While somewhat baffling, the reason behind this remains relatively simple – there just isn’t a logical argument for Brexit being a better path than the one we were previously treading. It would be nothing short of unrealistic to anticipate one, what with the prospect being terminally crippled through lack of supporting facts – creating a task akin to constructing an international high speed rail network spanning the entire globe exclusively out of bread. A tantalising concept for a hungry dreamer forever lost amidst the clouds perhaps, but not exactly compatible with any known reality.

So, ultimately, what other choice do the Brexit propagandists have? Those that have dared to stick their head above the parapet and present some form of reasonable argument found themselves eviscerated like shit in a blender – not the most dignified of positions to find yourself in, I’m sure you’ll agree.

Still, jingoistic tub-thumping and bizarre nostalgia for a thoroughly miserable past will only stave off those pesky, inquisitive questions for so long – so what else can you do? With another distraction needed, maybe a scandal will work? Something to anger the plebs to such a degree that their memories of concern will become lost amidst a haze of righteous outrage; but where could we find a toad so unscrupulous as to sacrifice what’s left of their soul to such a caper?

Capture
Yes, that should do it.

Of course, it had to be Boris – it could only be Boris. Say what you like about the bulbous bumblefuck but he’s a master of creating a convenient disturbance – and when scrutiny looms Boris hurls a handful of shit at the nearest fan without so much as a moment’s hesitation. Sure, there’s bound to be some amount of splashback for old Boris; people will justifiably hound him for his intentionally inflammatory babblings, but they’re just words – empty yet wonderfully intangible words. That’s not to say they can be utilised without repercussion but, if you’re sufficiently weaselly, chances are you’ll be able to nudge your insidious agenda far enough over the boundary while still being within touching distance of cover – albeit a shoddily assembled picket fence made up of semantics and misdirection; but at least empty, political spiel is easier to defend than an absurdly risky diplomatic proposal.

In actuality, this is perhaps the gravest concern of all. That such ham-fisted filibustering nevertheless manages to succeed in averting the allegedly unremitting gaze of public scrutiny. It may be mocked, it may be derided but, effectively by way of omission, it’s accepted – and that’s really not good enough.

Time is running short, desperately so. Yet our understanding of what awaits us is demonstrably lacking – and that’s just the politicians attempting to steer the ship while drunk on their own hubris. On every cognitive level you can fathom, it should be drowning out your internal monologue with piercing alarm bells; but the alarms barely sound – as though the stench of detached disdain emanating from the bubble of Westminster has anaesthetised us to such an extent that we’re but helpless drones, ever sleepwalking into a void we can’t even begin to perceive.

 

 

Boris Johnson – A man of many faces, none of them Churchill

Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson –  a man of the people if you ever did see one. Or at least, that’s the characterisation he’s long since been desperate to convey. Sure, he may on the face of it come across as an especially ostentatious clod from a mercifully undiscovered Dickensian novel but don’t be fooled – “Bozza” is most definitely one of you.

Look. He plays football and everything:

boris
The Brexiteer approach to international diplomacy in five seconds.

As preposterous a scheme as it may indeed be, you can’t really blame Boris for indulging. The political class have always had an image problem amongst the great unwashed, with perceptions ranging from mere distrust to full blown disgust. Cut adrift in the impenetrable Westminster bubble, they couldn’t possibly understand the endless tribulations of the average Joe. I mean how could they? Joe’s life has been defined by endless toil and back breaking graft – a existence complete with worry, financial strife and a disconcerting sense of isolation; as if the prosperous spectrum of society isn’t just a world away, but an exclusive club he’s irrevocably cut adrift from.

Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson’s formative years however, looked somewhat like this:

toby_young_52_20
If you look really closely, you can just about make out the knife Boris used to stab Cameron right in the fucking back tucked away up his right sleeve.

With this in mind, the strategy for Boris was fairly simple – if he wished to elevate his standing with the British electorate beyond that of the average cynical careerist, the only recourse was to sell the fabrication that, despite his astonishing privilege, he’s really just your average salt of the Earth bloke. Unfortunately, convincing the plebs that a man born with a silver ladle lodged down his gullet is actually an easily relatable bundle of effervescent empathy is quite the challenge, which is perhaps why Bojo has always seen fit to ramp up the absurdity at every possible opportunity. Zip-wiring, clowning, writing a heartfelt sonnet about the Turkish Prime Minister penetrating a goat – you name it. If it plays with the shit munchers, then dignity is superfluous. Anything to maintain the image that Boris Johnson is a jovial figurehead for the proletariat, bursting with patriotic pride and a heartfelt desire to put a smile back on the faces of his subjects.

CFmbjDY
Look at Boris. He’s just as stupid as the rest of us.

The trouble is, that’s not true is it? Not even fucking close. Of course, highlighting Boris’ duplicity now isn’t quite the newsflash it would have been pre-referendum. As he bumbled out of his residence the morning after the night before, he was met with a reception more befitting of a reviled criminal than the nation’s favourite buffoon – perhaps aptly. The mask of endearing chucklefuckery had been definitively ripped away and with the subsequent sight of Johnson delivering his “victory” speech with all the burgeoning triumph of a catatonic potato, many wondered what the future held for old Bozza.

To the surprise of nobody, it contained copious amounts of surreptitious skulduggery.

morningafter
Do the phrase “pyrrhic victory” mean anything to you?

It is indeed true that, in the wake of calling a close to his own leadership bid, Boris was rather conspicuously off the grid. Having fallen victim to an appropriately undignified ‘Boris-ing’ courtesy of alleged chum Michael Gove (who in turn managed to suitably ‘Gove’ up his own prime ministerial ambitions by failing miserably), whenever he did emerge from his lair into the public gaze, he cut a considerably castrated figure – the proverbial sad clown if you will.

Sadly, this self imposed media exile was not to be permanent and, with post-referendum disgruntlement having widened its reach across the entire, ever expanding swamp of deceit Brexit was fast becoming, Boris saw explicit opportunity in May’s failings to instil himself as a de facto figurehead of opposition within the minds of the Brexiteer horde – all the while being able to exploit Theresa’s hierarchical superiority to form an especially convenient shield as he fired potshots from the relative safety of the Foreign Office.

Boris was indeed back. Regrettable certainly, not least because it signalled the distressing rebirth of an especially sickly string to Boris’ bow – pseudo Churchillian wankery.

wankery
Boris Johnson arranged a photo-shoot to commemorate the signing of his resignation letter. No really, he did.

Look at him. It’s like a little boy playing dress up, isn’t it? One expects him to have rehearsed that very pose throughout many long and lonely nights in the Foreign Office, as if in preparation to fulfil a self imposed sense of destiny.  The lofty reverence in which Boris regards Winston is clear as day – and his apparent desire to leech off the Churchill mythos to bolster his very own cult of personality is as laughable as it is cynical.

There’s a sense of grim predictability about all of this. Boris’ irrepressible desire to lead was universally confirmed the moment he shafted Etonian ally Cameron, effectively placing himself in direct opposition by leading the fight to leave. In practical terms, it’s proved entirely inconsequential that the man who drafted an essay in support of Remain the day before proclaiming himself a fervent Brexiteer is operating completely within his own self interest. The cynicism attached to his every move is, remarkably, met with begrudging acceptance rather than justified outrage; though perhaps the shock factor is significantly lessened when his infuriating solipsism is considered an open secret – just “one of those things”.

It is, of course, no surprise to bear witness to Boris’ latest not at all transparent attempts to slither into the Number 10. It’s merely part of the Boris Johnson cycle – and absolutely everyone knows exactly what’s going on. Though there is a troublesome irony to seeing him warble out his best Winston during a resignation speech to the House of Commons, the watching masses being acutely aware that the entire farce was overwhelmingly inspired by deep-seated instincts of profound cowardice; ever lingering in the murky depths of Boris’ lamentable being.

In truth, there’s only one phrase that adequately sums up Johnson’s game plan – chaos exploitation. Ever waiting in the wings, leering over a the carnage (which, quite likely, was of his own creation), eternally on the lookout for an opportune moment to swoop in and be heralded as a savoir – increasing his favour with the masses, edging a few more inches up that disgustingly greasy pole before fleeing into the shadows relatively unscathed, moments prior to the dysfunction levels reaching critical mass.

It’s often been said by an assortment of unpardonable cretins that “it would be a RIGHT laugh if Bozza was in charge!” and that may indeed be so – at least on the most superficial level imaginable. Laughter is widely considered to be a vaguely effective treatment to unrelenting misery and there’s most certainly a fairly receptive market to pompous buffoonery somewhere out there. But, as with laughter only serving to distract from considerably more tangible personal struggles, the inevitable Boris Cavalcade of Clownery will be nothing more than a mere sideshow to the clusterfuck originated by a man who most probably left the notion of integrity back in his mother’s womb.

Guffaw all you want the next time Boris becomes marooned on a zip-line or tumbles down a well. After all, Boris would most certainly approve. As every shyster knows, the sound of uproarious laughter is the perfect cover under which to hurriedly exit stage left. Boris won’t want anything to do with the mangled corpse of our nation once his master-plan of chaos exploitation has reached its natural conclusion.

Nor will you once the laughter dies down.

The People’s Vote, Brexit and two entire years of impotent fiddlefucking.

Remember the EU referendum? Sure you do, it was only two years ago. We all vividly recall the respective campaigns, it’s almost impossible not to given the vitriol and division it created. Remain had their tedious approval of the status quo, forever insistent that a failure to heed their message would be met with the most mundane torrent of doom imaginable – and we had Leave contingent, with their somewhat jingoistic proclamation that we should throw off the shackles of supposed EU tyranny and drive a suspiciously mendacious bus over the horizon, ever onward towards a previously untapped land of gumdrops and global prosperity.

As astonishing as it may seem, Remain’s cautionary screed detailing the perils and pitfalls of economic downturn didn’t quite have the same sex appeal as promises of previously unfathomable wealth and a magic unicorn on every driveway – perhaps signifying that Leave’s eventual triumph wasn’t quite the Earth shattering upset it was initially portrayed as.

Michael-Gove
If you consider this sex appeal, just wait until you get a load of Nigel.

Still, whether the apple cart was toppled over or not, Leave had won the PR war and victory was immediately seized upon as the inerrant “will of the people” – with anyone who dared express concern as to the feasibility of this master plan being simply dismissed off-hand as a sore loser, wallowing in their own sense of bitter incredulity.

With this in mind however, it does indeed beg the question as to why today, two years on from a supposedly infallible expression of unyielding intent, thousands of people are taking to the streets of London to decry that very notion, demanding they be afforded some semblance of control.

I’m far from infallible myself, but I suspect it may have something to do with this:

full
Boris can scoff all he wants, at least a bog roll Brexit will afford us the tools to clear up the shit it’ll inevitably leave in its wake.

Yes, that is a real headline; and not from the preposterously backward universe next door. Horrifyingly, it’s from our own.

You likely recall similarly tiresome platitudes polluting the discussion way back in the aftermath of Leave’s victory. While naturally concerning to see figures like Boris Johnson (who days prior had taken to the stage, beaten his chest and declared a national day of independence in the event of his triumph) seemingly at a loss as to what the fuck he was supposed to do, time at least remained just about on our side. Scepticism was obviously rife, not least from increasingly inquisitive Remainers, but joyous Brexiteers were insistent that it’d be figured out in due course.

Two years on however, Vote Leave figurehead Boris Johnson is still marooned in the ‘mindless platitudes’ stage:

bog roll boris
It seems fitting that such a prominent bullshitter would have an inexhaustible supply of toilet paper.

Oh Boris, you cretinous bumblefuck. You sure can craft a soundbite capable of warding off suspicion from the most suggestible of Brexit loyalists, but unfortunately empty rhetoric doesn’t have a morsel of economic value and, consequently, isn’t suitable fuel for what is undoubtedly Britain’s most drastic diplomatic move in decades. Jingoistic bluster may well have swung the referendum, but it’s of no use to the subsequent aftermath – a fact that has become increasingly apparent as the months drifted by without even an iota of tangible progress. Of course that doesn’t stop both leading parties from attempting to create the impression of success, conveniently ignoring that their respective flavours of Brexit have already been unceremoniously spat out by the EU, but they try nevertheless – though it’s little surprise that many haven’t been fooled.

It’s from that very sense of disenfranchisement that the People’s Vote was spawned.

proud

The merits of such a concept are something I’ve touched upon previously, so I’ll spare you an explanation. However, I would like to address the inevitable scorn that has already been doled out by the usual suspects of shitehawks.

shitehawk
Oh look, Julia’s got democracy confused with shopping again.

You can dismiss the marchers as nutters, you can disagree with their politics – but in no way can you claim that they’re enemies of democracy, fiendishly attempting to subvert the nation’s collective will. You may rightly point out that the EU referendum was democracy in action but, as inconvenient to your narrative as it may be, today’s march is too. If Brexit really was the golden ticket to utopia it was advertised as, then there’d be no need for this. People are pissed off and justifiably so. They were told Brexit would improve their lives, heralding a new dawn of democratic accountability and a properly funded NHS – yet after two fucking years we’ve received nothing more than a few risible slogans equating crashing our economy with the desire for a decent breakfast. Ludicrous doesn’t quite cover it.

Look – you can treat the People’s Vote march with as much derision as you please; that’s entirely your prerogative. Sure, the overwhelming majority of attendees likely did vote Remain, but they won’t be alone. A smaller yet no less significant demographic of regretful Leave voters, having borne witness to the rudderless shit-show that Brexit swiftly became, will also be joining the cause – and if “taking back control” really is important to you, I’d recommend you also join the party.

Unless that is, you’d rather listen to Boris Johnson bloviate endlessly about bog roll.

Your choice.

The real reason people hate Boris Johnson

It’s been a sombre few days in the wake of the Parsons Green terror attack. The aftermath of such incidents is always a tempestuous time with finger pointing and scapegoating coming into direct conflict with calls for solidarity. Basically it’s such a clusterfuck of narratives that there’s little chance for much else to break through the haze.

Which is precisely why many were curious as to the timing of Parliamentary Potato Boris Johnson’s article detailing his vision for Brexit. The responses to this piece were largely negative, ranging from his motives being scrutinised to some questioning Boris’ grasp on reality. 

Though there was support from one fellow aristocratic anachronism.

jrm
Little known fact: Jacob Rees-Mogg uploads his tweets via telegram.

So far so predictable. Boris plunging his recently buffed shoe into an ominous mountain of faecal matter, quite possibly of his own making, is a regular occurrence and the reactions are often the same. Those possessing any semblance of scepticism will rip the limbs off his claims whilst his Etonian allies launch a staunch defence, all the while keeping a sharp blade close by in case a mutiny is required at short notice.

However, this time a rather idiosyncratic perspective emerged from the gloom courtesy of Daniel Hannan:

borischeerful
From the same reliable mind that brought you “Absolutely nobody is talking about threatening our place in the single market.”

Certainly the nuanced position. So perverse you’d expect my reaction to be one of incredulity but, to my surprise, it triggered something – an epiphany if you will.

I’d always suspected that my intense loathing reserved for the bulbous bumblefuck was down to more practical reasons. You know, the sort of duplicitous shit that impacts people’s lives? That drives our nation down the gutter for the benefit of personal advancement? Like, I don’t know…spearheading a campaign that knowingly misled the electorate? I mean we all saw it. Boris standing front and centre, doling out deceit through the medium of charming buffoonery. Does it matter that he didn’t really believe it? That his support for Leave was entirely disingenuous?

To Boris it certainly doesn’t. After all, what place is there for integrity when you’re manoeuvring to ram a knife into the spine of one of your oldest friends? There’s no room for such outmoded notions of decency in Boris’ schedule, not when he’s got subterfuge on the brain. He needn’t worry about being held accountable to those he so gleefully deceived either. Instead, he can just slither off into the background the moment consequence rears its timely head.

You could be mistaken into thinking that this is the behaviour of a particularly nefarious piss weasel, willing to brazenly mislead the public he claimed to serve for his own benefit. Pretty deplorable shit, right?

But no, people hate him because he smiles a bit.

rugby
Boris Johnson here, ploughing into a small child with a smile on his lips and a song in his heart.

In my naivety, I also fooled myself into thinking that perhaps his disputed competence could be the source of the unrelenting resentment towards Boris. It’s true that many of us are apathetic towards our jobs with this sometimes spilling over into outright ineptitude – but most of the jobsworth collective don’t find themselves winging it in a position of power and importance. Fucking up in Argos doesn’t tend to carry the same ramifications as fucking up as the Mayor of London for instance. Or fucking up as the Foreign Secretary. Or straight out fucking somebody you weren’t supposed to while on the Tory front bench. Naturally this sorry tale of staggering negligence is punctuated by his continued presence within influential government positions, poking the very concept of a meritocracy in the eye with every subsequent blunder.

You could be forgiven for considering this the employment pattern of a chancer, leaving the metaphorical motif of an indelible piss stain upon each establishment he degrades – all the while being enabled by his unscrupulous peers.

But no, he’s despised because he got stuck on a zip wire that one time.

CFmbjDY
Should have just left the fucker there.

I could continue on with this rather rudimentary barrage of sarcasm but the point has been laboured enough. It does bring me onto one rather noteworthy point however.

When viewed in the broadest possible terms Hannan’s statement is demonstrably ludicrous but there is a tiny fragment of truth buried beneath the landfill of insanity. Whilst it’s certainly not the most prominent of factors, a fair portion of the ire towards Boris is indeed down to his jovial tomfoolery.

Curiously Hannan seems to posit this as fatuous reasoning but nothing could be further from the truth. This preposterous Etonian omnishambles is our Foreign Secretary. To nations around the globe he’s the face of Britain as a diplomatic entity. We don’t want him publishing limericks about a foreign leader rogering a goat. We don’t want him careening like a bequiffed boulder into a former German international footballer. We just want him to be good at his job.

Brexit has taken a gargantuan piss into our pool of friends. The Foreign Secretary will be one of the key players if we’re ever to win back approval and craft Britain into a respected and formidable entity once again.

If anyone thinks that this role can be reliably carried out by a gurning caricature who’s most prominent skill is an uncanny ability to piss off almost everyone then who am I to stop you?

I just hope you’re still laughing when it comes time to reap what Boris has sown.