By Boris Johnson
I’M not a complete chump, I know what you people think of me. That I’m a corrupt, incompetent arse only interested in yours truly, rather than the country I’ve bafflingly been elected to govern.
Even some of my old Tory pals are beginning to cotton on. And there’s more than a scintilla of truth in that accusation.
But before you give me the heave-ho consider who’s coming up the rails to fill the prime ministerial shoes.
Liz Truss. That’s right. The Poundshop Thatcher. The queen of the far right bonkers brigade. The one who did that speech about cheese as if she’d just been kicked in the head by a horse.
You see the thing about me is that with all the Build Brexit Back Better, Bertie Booster nonsense, I don’t actually believe it, any more than old flagshagger Sir Keith Starmer wears Union Jack pyjamas to bed. I’m not an idiot.
Truss, though, does believe it. She’s got that mad gleam in her eye. She thinks securing a trade deal with the Christmas Islands makes us a world-beating nation and that we shouldn’t be ashamed of our nation’s wealth being built on the slave trade.
I’d say the same thing but only because I’m a cynic, not a raving, doolally, away-with-the-fairies loon.
Trust me, she’d be delivering the Queen’s speech herself against a 40-foot-high Union Jack, we’d be in an anti-EU alliance with Hungary and Belarus and you’d all be hankering for the days of kinder, saner Boris.