I do not accept Johnson’s apology...but I will accept his resignation

CONTEMPT. Disgust. Controlled anger. That’s what I felt watching Boris Johnson’s performance at his briefing on the milestone 100,000dead coronovirus figures.

For a performance it was, as crafted as he and his advisers are capable of. The drooping head, dropping to the chest for the key shot of unbelievable sorrow.

The hair more wildly disarranged than normal to show all personal care suspended; the Basset Hound hangover eyes pleading for understanding and pity as he looked up and into the camera.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, as if that made everything alright. Can we move on now, public penance done?

As PM, he says he takes responsibility, which must be a first in his feckless, selfish life.

So he plans to resign or signal a Government of national unity? Er, no…he’s said he’s sorry, what more do we want?

Where to begin. A competent PM and Cabinet for a start, not a cabal of hucksters greasing up the palms of their cronies.

Men and women, starting with Johnson, who are capable of compassion and empathy; for God knows I’m finding it hard to identify one from their utterances.

Has the country ever been so badly served? A smirking, self-loving overgrown schoolboy, who finds himself so loveable we must too.

Too lazy, too emotionally detached to give a damn for anybody else, leading at a time of the perfect storm of crisis after crisis.

He’s surrounded himself with fellow Brexiteers – some of whom actually believed in what they were saying – so his wisdom cannot be questioned.

He made a vice out of loyalty, protecting the likes of Dominic Cummings and Priti Patel, and barely bothered to defend his own frequent outrageous lies because so far the country and the alleged official

Opposition have hardly protested at all he’s thrown at them.

But now people are dead or dying in numbers that can’t be shrugged away – his people who followed every decision he took or didn’t take; who believed his boastful promises which could never be fulfilled even as they watched the mocking grin never far from his lips.

But then it’s always been just a game to this egoist.

Hell, he only had one job – to get Brexit through and then he could bask in the glory of still-boyship leadership until time for the big pension and the title.

And then the inconsiderate bastards picked up a virus and started dying. Well, he’s done his best – ignored his own scientists’ advice when it felt right; Dillied and dallied until he’d taken soundings from the country. Gave them Christmas, didn’t he?

Let them out when others said they should be locked down.

And now he’d apologised, although carefully pointing out that hindsight is a wonderful thing. I mean, he’s not a seer is he…only a PM with all the information at his fingertips; well if he could be bothered to study it.

But there’s a collective blame here too – a watered down version of all we saw with Donald Trump.

God knows enough people stepped forward at the start to question both his morals and his probity – most provided evidence.

The public, the majority it seemed, thought him a good laugh, a cheeky chappie who would get things done. Particularly Brexit. Made a fine fist of that, eh?

And the right-wing press, the rapacious owners and on-the-make columnists aided and abetted their ‘Boris’ , treating him as an amusing, if a little wild, wonderkind.

One cannot blame certain sections of the public if they were seduced by this carefully crafted image promising sovereignty, fun and good times.

To hell with gravitas and dignity, give me my Union Jack boxers.

But we can blame the rest of us – omitting, of course, most Scots who are well versed in English phonies and carpetbaggers.

Now don’t tell me it’s none of my business as I live in France.

When my fellow human beings are dead and dying because of arrogant self-interest it is all our business.

When a weak, self-justifying apology is offered instead of the shameful truth and we see page after page of people now gone forever – it is worse than no answer.

So, no, Boris Johnson. I do not accept your mealy mouthed ‘oops, sorry.’

I accept nothing less than your resignation…. and take the rest of the contemptible shower with you.