In Liz We Truss: to resign on day one to make way for Boris

By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist slightly to the right of Hitler

IN voting for Liz Truss, I had one caveat: could she be trusted? Did she recognise what Britain truly needed? Does she have the courage to resign immediately? For Boris? 

Because she knows what every Conservative party member knows when facing that ballot: she’s first choice on paper, but second in our hearts. 

That we’re only ticking her box because we believe her. We believe in her loyalty. We believe that she will do the right thing for Britain. And we believe her acceptance speech will be her resignation one. 

‘I will be prime minister for a single day,’ she will say. ‘I did not run for my own glory. I ran to eliminate the Backstabber Sunak, the Judas who even now is being hunted down by MI5.

‘I am not your prime minister. We all know who the rightful prime minister of this country is. The man so shabbily dethroned in an act of madness will be returned to you now.

‘I resign. There will be no leadership contest. There will be no rudderless Britain. The World King is restored to his throne. Rejoice.’ 

Simply by recognising hard political reality, Truss would write her name in the history books. Boris has served his punishment. He’s done his months in exile. Our Napoleon is ready to come marching home. 

With Rishi jailed, awaiting execution at the Queen’s pleasure, Boris would fix the energy crisis tomorrow. Roll up his sleeves and clean up Liz’s little seaside poo problem. Crush inflation like he crushed Covid. 

There has only been one prime minister worthy of the name in the last 30 years. Like Churchill on the eve of war, he is ready to return. Liz Truss’s finest hour is to be his facilitator. I hope she’s bloody proud. 

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Leave Britain behind and kick back on an island with a higher population density than London! This week: Portsmouth

What’s it about?

If you crave the island lifestyle, look no further: the beaches and bars of Portsea Island and its city, Portsmouth, lure exchange students from London, sailors on shore leave and people who took the wrong turning to Brighton and are in for a shock. But relax! You’re on island time!

Any good points?

Laid-back vibes cover Portsmouth like a film of diesel over a cross-channel ferry port, so uptight mainlanders – get used to it. The language along Commercial Road is as colourful as the disposable lighters at its market, so relax and enjoy a slowed-down, carefree existence where you’re never more than five minutes from a crazy golf course.

And leave your dress code in the office. Even in the city centre you’ll come across people not wearing any shoes. Now that’s what we call island style!

A word of warning. Just like North Shore Hawaii, locals can be protective. And so would you be if the world wanted a piece of your backyard! Remember to show respect whether sharing the waves, waiting for a refund in Primark or discussing the conservatorship of a parking space.

Wonderful landscapes?

The best view in Portsmouth is from your hammock, cocktail in hand, looking back towards the mainland and all those suckers stuck in the nine-to-five. Don’t they know the beach is calling?

Alternatively, when you get tired of sand and sewage between your toes, there’s the historic dockyard, a number of incongrously high towers and shitloads of fucking ships.

Hang out at…

This is your island in the sun! But, with a rainy season running from July one year to June the next, please dress accordingly.

Catch the breeze along Southsea seafront, have a splash if the mood takes you, and – just like in Fiji, the Maldives or Bali – watch out in the shallows. If you feel the prick of an ocean hazard go straight to A&E and ask for a hepatitis shot. It’s not a sea urchin.

The Burj al-Arab is Dubai’s take on Portsmouth’s Spinnaker Tower. But while the Emirati pretender might enjoy glossier column inches it doesn’t have a discount Mambo shop nearby, only lesser brands like Chanel, Dior and Burberry. And savvy shoppers know that factory seconds beats tax-free any day.

If you’re tired of the beach and shopping (as if!) head to Hillsea Lido. It’s an outdoor swimming pool offering all the same things as the beach but you have to pay and the swimming area is bloody tiny.

It’s your little slice of paradise. But ssssh! Don’t tell everyone!

Where to buy?

Old Portsmouth has apartments by the water. You can be out of your front door and feeling the stones between your toes in the time it takes to set your out-of-office.

Southsea’s enviable situation commands top prices, and you’ll see why. You’re seconds from the beach and there’s a Co-op – a convenience store, similar to the ‘Tesco’ you may know from mainland Britain – on every corner.

Looking to buy cheap? Fuck off back to mainland Britain. You can’t afford to live in the UK’s maritime Manhattan.

From the streets: 

Jack Browne, aged 29: “Growing up island-style meant summers spent fishing, exploring and camping under the stars. Red Dead Redemption 2 really is a hell of a game.”

Lauren Hewitt, aged 18: “Me and my friends killed a holidaymaker by dropping a rock on his head. We’ve sworn we’ll never tell.”