Tories cock up the coup
So, he’s safe for now. Again. Once more the ruthless, leader-deposing, election-winning machine of the Conservative Parliamentary Party quailed in fright before a man with all the charm of an overboiled andouillette recently discovered behind the radiator at a dog-grooming salon.
When Oliver Dowden – a man best known for spending most of his time as Culture Secretary trying to tell castles what to do – is the colleague with the most courage you know your party is in bad shape. That it’s lethargic, adrift, lacking even the 1990s’ brand of Tory bastards whose venal, naked ambition would have taken out Johnson behind the barn months ago. Seemingly none of them wants to be Prime Minister, even for a bit.
The Conservative Party currently resembles a doleful Labrador, looking up at us all with huge, guilty eyes from the remains of what once was a chocolate cake. It’s keen to express remorse for what it’s done, but has neither the will nor the necessary talent to clean up the mess that it’s made.
Liz Truss has tweeted that she “backs the Prime Minister 100%”. It’s worth remembering that, in surgical terms, a truss is a device for supporting a wayward bollock. Rishi Sunak seems to be keeping his head below the parapet. Although he may well have simply stopped using the booster seat he needed to see what was going on.
Matt Hancock is an option. But he looks like a man who’s happiest in a pub in West London on a stag do with mates wearing matching rugby tops with nicknames on the back (so you can distinguish one non-entity from another), being loudly called “Cockers”. The Cockster will end the night by having a confusing experience with a drag queen and falling asleep in The Comedy Store.
On the more deluded wing of contenders is Jeremy Hunt. A man with all the charisma of a glass of lukewarm Ovaltine, he seems to be hoping everyone’s forgotten how terrible he was last time he held a ministerial position. This wouldn’t be unreasonable – he is, after all, a deeply forgettable man – were it not for the fact that his name is so useful when writing poems about him. You only need one syllable, but it’s a hell of a rhyme.
Hunt feels like the person who welcomes you into a remote bed and breakfast where you’ve had to take shelter from a storm and assures you with a fixed stare and lilting intonation, “Oh, I’m sure you’ll like it here. Everyone does. In fact, they never leave…” before showing you his puppet theatre made from the corpses of previous patrons.
So, because his party is full of failed management consultants and people who are just happy they’re allowed to use metal cutlery, Johnson is safe
So, because his party is full of failed management consultants and people who are just happy they’re allowed to use metal cutlery, Johnson is safe. His potential opponents seem like they’d struggle to pull off a rubber glove, never mind a coup. He can roll around 10 Downing Street, belching happily and imagining what his third term will be like…