LIKE Monty Python’s parrot, Boris Johnson’s premiership has expired, it has gone to meet its maker, it’s stiff, bereft of life, it rests in peace, it’s pushing up daisies, its metabolic processes are now history, it’s kicked the bucket, shuffled off this mortal coil – joined, as John Cleese would say, ‘the bleedin’ choir invisible’. Johnson’s premiership is an ex-premiership, in all but name.
It’s only a matter of time before the Tory Party dispatches this most unless and dangerous of Prime Ministers. After the catastrophic by-election defeat in North Shropshire – with a 34.2% swing to the Lib-Dems in a once safe seat that’s been in Tory hands since the 1830s – Johnson is finished. “One more strike and he’s out,” Tory MP Sir Roger Gale says. How long until Johnson swings and misses again? Tonight? Tomorrow? Monday morning?
He’s a joke and a loser now, and the Tories – fond of a little regicide – will finish him off as soon as they see fit. There’s a nice dramatic unity to that, given Johnson removed the Queen – Theresa May – and stole her throne.
It may be pleasing to laugh at Johnson’s coming demise – this amoral clown who’s torn Britain to pieces with lies, corruption and innate utter uselessness. Yet, there’s a much darker side to what’s happening now. Ask yourself: how much ruin will be accrued by Johnson while we wait for his inevitable defenestration?
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