I will miss my cartoon version of Theresa May
As she lurches awkwardly into the footnotes of history, many people will claim that Theresa May’s legacy is simply that she failed to deliver Brexit. I, however, would like to lament the departure of a truly inspiring figure. The heroic woman who competed at the Winter Olympics, played for England in the World Cup, captained a pirate ship and blasted into outer space on a rocket. The fearless PM who posed naked for a calendar, piloted a Spitfire and snogged Jeremy Corbyn. The noble leader who transformed before our eyes into a dormouse, a French poodle, a Palaeozoic tetrapod, Andy Murray, Donald Trump and a towel for Juncker’s bottom.
It’s fair to say that the real Theresa didn’t have quite as much fun as the one in my cartoons.
The flesh-and-blood prime minister did, however, provide several situations that proved too funny to ignore. Trampling over farmer’s crops, holding hands with Donald Trump, coughing her way through a party conference speech and dancing like a robot. What she lacked in spontaneity and wit, she almost made up for in accidental farce.
Having drawn her nearly every day for the past three years, there have, inevitably, been times when I’ve struggled to get her out of my head. Her wonderfully cartoonable form has even haunted my dreams. The hunched shoulders, the disproportionately long arms, shapely legs, wonky mouth and, of course, the signature leopardprint heels. A cartoonist couldn’t ask for more.
It’s brilliantly convenient to be able to represent a politician by simply drawing their shoes.
At the beginning of her premiership I drew her quite differently. She was
more of a no-nonsense headmistress, severe and angular. Gradually, my rendering of her became softer and less pointy as she herself became, well, pointless.
For a long period, despite losing her authority, she was regarded as an unfortunate victim. This was probably the most interesting time for me. I needed to make people laugh at her, but then want to give her a bit of a cuddle. Like a frightened bunny rabbit or a soon-to-beplucked chicken.
When the sympathy ran out, we moved on to the third act of many, many, many false endings. There are only so many ways one can visually represent the end of a person’s career. I do wonder whether Mrs May ever considered how cruel she was being to cartoonists, by forcing us to come up with new metaphors for political death for months on end.
In this respect, I am relieved that she’s going. But I’m going to miss having her as a subject. I’ve become weirdly attached to my version of Theresa. Alas, it’s time for both of us to move on. For me, it’s back to drawing a man in a boring navy suit and disappointingly unsexy shoes. For the real Mrs May, it’s probably going to be an enjoyable time muttering “I told you so” from the sidelines.
And what will become of my Theresa cartoon character? I think I will imagine her galloping merrily across acres and acres of wheat, for all eternity.
Bob Moran is the Sunday Telegraph’s cartoonist FOLLOW Bob Moran on Twitter @bobscartoons;
at telegraph.co.uk/opinion