Beastly Beastie Boy Boris fights for his right to party
IT would be invidious and tedious of me to rehash recent events, merely as an excuse for a load of cheap jokes. So here goes.
Boris Johnson, a prime minister, was minding his own business one day – which just happened to be his birthday, children – when his wife Carrie Antoinette ambushed him with a Union Jack cake and announced to the lieges: “Let him eat bakery products!”
Though some thought it a cheek to sponge off the taxpayer, Carrie invited 30 other movers and shooglers to her bring-your-own-Boris do, including Lulu Lytle, who had revamped the couple’s flat at considerable expense. For Lytle is a lot when it comes to interior design.
Alas, it was looking like curtains now for the PM, as the police belatedly poked their beaks into the business, and decent ratepayers pointed at Boris and said: “Who’s soiree now?”
Och, not Boris. Not really. At Prime Minister’s Questions, he was at times the life and soul of the party, and couldn’t resist a wry smile when intoning the usual PMQs introductory trope about having had meetings that morning “with ministerial colleagues … and others”. The others presumably being various investigators and partypoopers. Ha-ha. What a card.
Of course, his birthday bash was a gift to the opposition and, accordingly, Labour leader Keir Starmer asked Boris if he believed the ministerial code, which states “Any dumb-ass misleading the joint should sling his hook” applied to him. If so, he had to resign. Yep, he’s gateau go.
Boris wittered on about being unable to comment, economic recovery, booster rollout, yada with a second helping of yada, adding: “We have got all the big calls right.” Yes, most of them to the Samaritans.
He looked a bit down, right enough, when Sir K asked if he’d publish the full report. With his face assuming, in the words of Bertie Wooster about Gussie Fink-Nottle, the aspect of “a peevish halibut”, Boris dissembled about leaving the report to the independent investigator.
Then, if I might go all English sport on you, Sir Keir bowled Boris a right googlie, leaving him a**e over dibblydobbly as he unexpectedly raised the troublesome Scotch Question, and in particular the recent episode in which Jacob Rees-Mogg, the Leader of the Hoose, called well-known Scottish Tory leader Desmond – is it Desmond? Derek? – Ross “a lightweight”.
Sir K characterised this as “English Conservatives publicly undermining the Union by treating Scotland with utter disdain”. Well spotted, sir. But Mr J didn’t see it like that at all, interpreting the jibe as just another attack on what had been going on in Downing Street. Yes, and the clue was in the name. They’d been downing wine, cake, salted snacks.
The PM observed: “Of course, I don’t deny, for all sorts of reasons, many people may want me out of the way.”
You think? He alleged this was because he delivered. Yes, he’s like Hermes. “Where’s my package of policies?” “It’s in that hedge.”
In an unnecessarily cruel barb, the PM accused Sir Keir of being “a lawyer not a leader”. Ouchy.
There were the usual pained expressions, and the traditional chorus of groans, when the SNP’s Westminster leader, Ian Blackford, weighed in to declaim histrionically. Complaining with gutso, sorry gusto, about the various sufferings of the lieges “while they” – the Tory Government – “eat cake”, Ian said the PM should be shown the door and, with a dramatic flourish, pointed helpfully to a portal affording access to the real world.
Riposted Boris with a grin: “Well, Mr Speaker, I don’t know who has been eating more cake …”
He added: “Behind the scenes – people don’t get this – we co-operate well” (Boris slices, Ian sorts out the napkins) “and I hope to continue to do so.”
For the benefit of future historians reading this as an authoritative source, I should record that the Speaker had to intervene several times as the hullaballoo repeatedly got out of hand, and that one or two contributions from the Labour benches were embarrassingly intemperate, even unhinged. They need to learn from the old smoothie Tories about remaining urbane at all times, and from veteran pugilists that he who loses his temper loses the fight.
When you have the PM on toast about bakery products, best not to come over as a fruitcake yourself.
At any rate, at least at the time of writing, Boris lived to fight another day. And, doubtless, as a student of classics, he will continue to implement the philosophy of the Beastie Pueri: “You gotta fight for your right to party.”