TODAY, the antics of traitors are prime-time televisual entertainment. But as usual, I was there a good 17 years earlier.
Did I make a fuss about it? Did I wear a hooded cloak and swish around claiming I ‘had heat on me’? No. I wore a Savile Row suit that, as a point of pride, somebody else had paid for.
I didn’t ‘kill’ my fellow cabinet members one by one, attracting attention. Instead I merely undermined them both publicly and privately in anticipation of a general election in which they’d all lose their seats and my hands would appear clean.
And all the while, I quietly went about my traitorous work passing on confidential government documents to Jeffrey Epstein. Not because he was a friend, a sex trafficker or an Israeli asset, but because he was very wealthy and I would do the same for any banker.
Was it misconduct? Oh, absolutely. Is it criminally actionable? Like most of my crimes, that would be very, very hard to prove. Can you take my peerage off me? You may remember a gentleman called Lord Lucan. They didn’t take his.
I’ve had to resign a few jobs, certainly. Losing my ambassadorship hurt when there’s an orgy of corruption going on over in Washington DC to which I should be invited. But I roll with the punches and come up having drinks on an oligarch’s yacht.
I destabilised an elected government. I betrayed trust. I stabbed backs. My greatest aspiration, as yet unfulfilled, is to become a vampire. And in between all that I represented the people of Hartlepool as their MP.
For now I depart, with a swish of my metaphorical cape. But should Labour improbably win again in 2029? Don’t bet against my return, I’m very well-connected.
