Horses

​I have been struck by a blogging inertia these last few days. The challenge presented by writing about British politics is that there can be only be so many times and so many ways you can describe our Prime Minister as a devious, lying, narcissistic incompetent clown. Although perhaps with so many unpleasant things to say about him, he’s not a clown at all but in fact a very clever performer because he only pretends to be a clown. The interesting part is what this says about the rest of us that we tolerate such a character to be in charge of our affairs.

Unfortunately, as yesterday’s Prime Minister’s Questions demonstrated, Johnson doesn’t face an opposition which is capable of landing a killer blow. Starmer’s performance, with his long-winded questions and knowing kind of in-on-the-joke smiling and laughing projected, dare I say a more louche twist to his supposedly ‘forensic’ style. His appearance belied his attempt at seriousness, it was more faux shock. It was a missed opportunity so far as ‘Partygate’ is concerned. It may one day be compared to Kinnock’s failure to land a blow on Margaret Thatcher over the Westland Affair. It was left up to David Davis, a former Brexit buddy of Johnson to deliver the line of the day, ‘For God’s sake, go!’ - the parliamentary way of saying ‘eff off.’

Thinking of the Westland Affair and Michael Heseltine’s resignation from Thatcher’s Cabinet, there doesn’t seem to be any minister in Johnson’s Cabinet with Heseltine’s pluck. I would have thought this might have been a good time for Rishi Sunak to distance himself and prepare his springboard for the leadership of the Tory Party. The longer he lingers the more he will be compromised. But then nobody really wants to be seen to go first, like many a donkey in a horse race the front runners often come second or third. Perhaps the Tories need a stalking horse to flush out false loyalties, somebody who no longer has any chance of promotion. But right now I can’t think of anyone on the Tory backbenches with the courage of Sir Anthony Meyer, who was effectively Heseltine’s stalking horse in 1989. And of whom I wrote (in the Guardian at the time) ‘I bet he drinks Carling Black Label.’