It has been speculated for some time that Boris Johnson, having finally got the job he so longed for, is not entirely happy with his lot in life.
And really, who can blame him? Oh for a day in the life of Johnson. It is a particularly cruel and edifying tale. It’s not only that he spends his days doing things that he doesn’t want to do, but that he is prevented from doing the things that he doesn’t want to do, by people who actually want to do them. , but who won ‘t.
And yet he is here, stuck in that branch, desperately trying to introduce severe lock-out-like restrictions across much of northern England, as various Labor mayors and council heads tell him he can not. And here he is, making breathless statements about ending trade talks with the EU, it’s all the EU’s fault, and that “we will thrive mightily as an independent nation”, but at the same time, not really, you know, walking away from the talks, which will continue in London next week.
It is difficult to know which of the two disasters that are pounding the world entirely on his own, making the Prime Minister the most torturing.
On the one hand, oh the agony involved with being the guy who puts the restrictions, having to read all the unfounded, unsubstantiated outrage not just scientifically but functionally illiterate that they created that you would love so much. you take out yourself.
How can Johnson cope with being the guy who prompts, to take just one example, former England cricket captain Michael Vaughan to tell her many Instagram followers that “The clocks go up this weekend, I’m going to put mine in 1940, when this country had bullshit.”?
Oh Vaughan, he’s got bullshit now. There is complete and absolute bullshit everywhere you look, from 10 Downing Street to the social media of the former England cricket captain. Unfortunately, scores of people have now informed Vaughan that in fact the clocks don’t come back until next weekend. Many of us had imagined the great Vaughany, in the wee hours of Saturday night, winding up the living room clock by an hour and not quite catching a fork of lightning on the dark horizon, before we turned. sleep. And then the newspaper lands on the carpet with a thud with the news that Winston Churchill has been elected leader of the Conservative Party.
Everything that happens after Vaughany rushes with dizzying excitement through the cobblestone streets will be a question for the Good night darling remake the writers’ room, but we would like to hope that there will be various people on site who will be a little surprised to learn that a) there are still five years of unimaginable human misery to come and b) this man from the future is come to endure all of this on purpose because he has nothing to watch on Netflix, anything.
We would also like to hope that it ends with our protagonist crammed into a landing craft off Sword Beach. The pipes ring, the doors fall and suddenly he has to run, not this time to the Pavilion End for a quick single but to the roaring roar of machine gun fire. “Please Lord! Please! We imagine that the hero of the Ashes of England in 2005 could cry. “Just let me in and I swear I’ll never complain again about having to wear a mask in Tescos!”
Boris Johnson threatens a no-deal ‘Australia’ Brexit
We can say that we digress, and at noon, the Prime Minister too. Now it was the European Union’s turn to tell him that cakeism is a viable proposition only for chroniclers, not for real and real politicians.
No, this has never been the simplest free trade deal in human history, the current EU summit in Brussels has for some time been seen as the very last chance for Brexit.
Johnson told EU leaders a week ago that unless they were ready to fundamentally change their negotiating position, the UK was ready to go without a deal and it would do so at this summit. It’s, more than anything, pretty incredible, that four years later, those words can still come out of my fingers and count as news.
Could it be possible that after four and a half years of telling the EU that we are serious about leaving without a deal, but not really, that they might never believe us, in part because that? is transparent obvious isn’t it?
And yet we were here, telling them once again that we are serious that we will really leave without a deal, long after our last self-imposed deadline has come and gone, but you know, not really leaving.
Johnson’s 30-second video clip of announcing we are walking away but not really moving away was, in a crowded field, one of his best. Arguably never before has it summed up so succinctly how all it had to offer was a full berth from the start. He starts off in a desperate tone, talking about ‘hearts lifted up’ and how sad it is that the EU doesn’t change its mind, and how reluctantly that means everything is going to be absolutely great.
This thing that we so desperately want, well we’re not going to get it, and that’s good because we’re better off without it anyway. If you are still trying to convince them that you are serious about leaving without a deal, you must try to put together a pitch for doing so that can hold for more than 15 seconds. But alas, he cannot. He really is at his best.
Where does it all leave us, who knows? The coronavirus is reborn and the country is too fractured, fed up and confused to care. Whether you choose to blame the Prime Minister or various mayors in the North is a matter of personal choice, although it doesn’t seem the most difficult to do.
And whatever happens with Brexit, well, it’s also a mystery, especially since the PM cannot handle two consecutive, non-contradictory statements of complete garbage on the matter. What’s, at this point, very clear is that it won’t look like any of the promises made four and a half years ago, but it’s been clear for years.
It’s very, very hard to imagine that the country wouldn’t be very serious about stepping away from Brexit if it could. But, as we will see, he is just as hopelessly trapped as his prime minister.