I WAS first diagnosed as stupid when I was 16. For a while doctors thought I might be dyslexic or autistic, so to learn I was a person of stupidity was a great relief.
I don’t see my stupidity as an affliction but a positive trait. Stupid people simply see the world in a different way to intelligent people. We have an insight into things that you would regard as made-up, irrelevant, non-existent or wrong.
But to us they are very real and at the core of our worldview.
Everything I say about Northern Ireland is unabashed, incoherent stupidity, from my claim years ago that only a few Irish ‘turnip farmers’ would be affected by Brexit to my clueless meddling that may cause a trade war with the EU we can’t possibly hope to win.
And do not forget my powerful cheese speech: ‘We import two-thirds of our cheese. That. Is. A. Disgrace.’ It’s as true now as it was then. Whatever the f**k it means.
I see myself as an inspiration to other people of stupidity – and not just stupidity, other associated, often undiagnosed, conditions such as malice, self-obsession and monumental inconsiderateness.
You might think that if you are stupid, your life chances are limited. But here I am, inexplicably a cabinet minister, with a chance of making it to Number 10. It’s the feel-good political story of our times.
I hope that stupid schoolchildren see me and say ‘I’m thick as pigshit. There’s no way I should be running a country. But Liz has shown me I can!’ Then take up a career in politics, doing stupid things like claiming you can feed a family of four for 20p.
My message to stupid people across the UK is this: say it loud, we’re stupid and we’re proud. Now go and ask for help tying your shoelaces.