“All his life Boris has wanted to be Churchill.
Now he has met his Dunkirk, he realises he just can’t do it. He doesn’t have
the leadership. He wants to be loved too much. Inside he’s a ball of foetal
need. The tousled hair is no longer endearing. Now it just looks shambolic. And
the mind is as confused as the barnet. He’s never come across a difficult
decision he hasn’t wanted to fudge. Marriages, affairs, Brexit. All compartmentalised
away into a happy place where there are no consequences.
Being Draco the Lawmaker just doesn’t sit well
with him. Now the lives of thousands of people are at stake, and he can’t bear
the responsibility. He was only ever in it for the lols. He clasped his hands,
as if trying to hold himself together, but his body is folding in on itself.
Bags upon bags upon bags. Soon all that will be left is a pool of blubbery
blob, its voice a faint echo of Rob Brydon’s “small man trapped in a box”. With
the odd bit of Latin thrown in.”
Boris Johnson unveils the lockdown that isn't quite a
lockdown
John Crace
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