The sight of some Tory MPs gathered in Downing Street, along with staffers, many close to tears, fills me with a variety of emotions. Sadness, anger, despair, hatred to name but four. The political establishment lined-up in a state of communal self-pity is utterly sick-making. Boris Johnson is the worst prime minister of all time, a mendacious liar, crook and charlatan, a self-absorbed narcissist whose only aim in life is to feather his own nest. His legacy, a divided and broken country.
His resignation speech, bizarrely described by Sky’s usually spot-on Beth Rigby as ‘”dignified”, was the usual self-serving pack of lies, with no contrition and no apologies. Sky and, I’m told, the BBC broadcast the speech as this was some grand occasion and not the humiliating departure of a man who was never fit for office as an MP, never mind a prime minister.
As Johnson wanders off to a lucrative media career, bolstered by after dinner speeches, we wander among the wreckage. The disastrous Brexit which he supported only to further his political and personal ambitions, the United Kingdom held together by a thread, rampant inflation, 200,000 killed by Covid, the NHS in tatters, public services in chaos – these is the true inheritance for this country.
When Johnson dies – and trust me, I don’t wish it upon him – then the same will happen to his body and soul as happens to everyone else: nothing. I only wish there was a hell for him to go to.
