THAT BORIS JOHNSON COLUMN
People often come up to me in the streets and ask me, “Boris”, because they like to think they know me, and have some kind of real connection, but in reality, this isn’t true. They don’t know me at all. Anyway, members of the public constantly ask me “what on Earth is going on with Brexit?” Then they say “Why is that weak, useless, spineless woman Theresa May still Prime Minister? And why are you cycling to work when you’ve got enough money to buy one of your own daft buses?”
When it comes to the latter question, I must admit I am often tempted to take public transport to work, because my Lycra cycling shorts are causing me to chafe horrendously – to put it in perspective, it’s proving more painful than a Quentin Letts' This Week appearance. Even worse than that time Eric Pickles ran a half marathon for charity – he had inner thighs like weeping corned beef when he gave up after 30 yards of waddling. Poor Pickers.
I feel it’s my duty to point out that right now, as I write this column, we as a nation are in crisis. When I say crisis, I don’t mean a ‘Cambridge have won the Boat Race, that woman who used to clean my flat in London a few years ago has gone to the press and Michael Gove is about to become the PM’ crisis. No, this is even worse than that (if you can imagine such a thing). Theresa May has bottled Brexit, and she knows it full well. You know it, I know it, the man in the street knows it, (Sub – can we have more examples of people who also realise that Theresa May has bottled it, helps fill a bit more space? Thanks) – everybody knows it. Except for Theresa May, who’s too damned stubborn to know it, even though she knows it but won’t admit knowing it.
When I think of this insane scenario, I’m reminded of Jason & The Argonauts slaying Kouros, who unleashed a Minotaur on an all-inclusive in Mykonos. If we cannot learn lessons from Greek Mythology which I use to indicate I have superior intellect and knowledge, then where does it leave us?
From Day One, the whole Brexit fiasco has been a…fiasco (Sub - can you look up a simile for ‘fiasco’, I’m running late and due to meet someone for lunch at my club).
And before people start blathering on about trivial stuff such as me having my photo taken in front of the Brexit Bus with that writing on it which wasn’t true, alongside some numbers which weren’t exact…or true, it’s worth remembering that I did that for a reason. The reason being that I thought I could get away with it, like I’ve been getting with things most my life. You know what that Nazi chap (Subs - check historical figure) said – “if you tell a lie big enough, the people will eventually come to believe it”. And they did, although I believe had that Nazi chap spray painted a load of lies on the side of a big red bus, and been given an absolute pasting on Twitter, Hitler would’ve sacked him on the spot.
That all seems like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it? Since the referendum in 2016, UKIP have gone through 17 leaders, Jeremy Corbyn has read out 937 junk mails about penis enhancement in Parliament and we’ve had three Brexit secretaries. One by one, Davis Davis, Dominic Raaaaaaaaaaaaaab, and the other one, old wotsisname? Oh yes, Stephen Lloyds TSB, that’s it. One by one, they’ve managed to hit a brick wall when it comes to negotiating the best deal for our country.
But it’s not through want of trying. I know that Davis Davis would often work as many as 16, sometimes 17-minute days in the hope that he could somehow break the deadlock. Dominic Raaaaaaaaaaaaaab once broke into a sweat running for the Eurostar, and the light in Stephen Midlands office was seen burning brightly at 5.15pm one night, so hard was he mining the EU negotiations coalface.
This week has once again seen absolute chaos in the House of Commons – MPs on a short fuse have been angrily shouting one another down and losing their temper. But there again this is bound to happen when Ken Clarke sits at the Commons bar, holds court and no-one else can get served.
Just writing these words to get the old word count up to what’s required in order to keep the boss happy.
Okay, just a few more words. That should do it – just pinging over that five-figure invoice for the month…now.