POLITICS is like any relationship – it’s about compromise. And a Machiavellian brain like mine can compromise any enemy into submission by abandoning his beliefs at every turn.
It doesn’t matter what you’re arguing about. You could be debating what to have for breakfast, the baffling ending of 28 Years Later, or screwing over the disabled. Promptly backing out of your views will leave your opponents bewildered.
This is the art of the U-turn. Veering in and out of sincerely held opinions has taken me from being the humble son of a toolmaker to leading the country with a majority of 165. I stand for nothing and that’s popular.
At work, I keep backbenchers on their toes with minute-by-minute U-turns. Like judo, I use the weight of their own expectations against them. You assume I’m holding firm on my winter fuel policy, then you’re sprawling on the floor of the House.
I always be closing on U-turns. Even technology isn’t safe. When the self checkout asks if I need a bag, I click no then scan one anyway, to keep it guessing.
This blizzard of flip-flopping throws the haters. My U-turns make me a chameleon, a shapeshifter. I’m more Teflon than Trump, who I simultaneously adore and disapprove of.
Folding on the welfare bill is nothing. Next I’m going to U-turn on my name, political allegiance and species. Tomorrow the country will be run by Excelsior, the benevolent cloud of iron filings, and you’ll be so disconcerted you’ll go along with it.
When I’m truly drunk with power, I may even U-turn on U-turning. But that would leave me vulnerable to threats like integrity and accountability, so I don’t think I’ll do that.
