The other day, I had a private chat with my old friend Boris, which, he stipulated, was strictly off the record. So here it is:
AB: Boris, John McDonnell has described you as “a danger to women, to single mothers, the working class, minorities, LGBT+ people, and to anyone who doesn’t look like him. He thinks he is born to rule and stands against everything that holds our communities together.” Care to comment?
BJ: McDonnell? Ghastly man, that. I say let’s get Brexit done.
AB: The average wait at NHS A&E departments is 12 hours. How will your government tackle this problem?
BJ: Simple, old boy. Let’s get Brexit done.
AB: Britain’s ageing population is putting more and more pressure on social services. This problem isn’t likely to go away without some radical rethink of government policies. Any ideas?
BJ: Cripes, Al, you and your onanistic questions. Ideas? How’s this: get Brexit done.
AB: On a more personal note, many traditional Tory voters are wondering if you’re planning to marry Carrie Symonds. Nuptials soon?
BJ: Carrie on as we are at the moment, you old bugger. Both Carrie and Brexit are getting done, if I say so myself who shouldn’t.
AB: Is there any rift in the Johnson family? Both your sister and your brother seem to oppose you on Brexit.
BJ: Don’t you worry about that, Al. Let’s get Brexit done, and let Dad teach hoi polloi how to spell Pinocchio.
AB: In a more serious vein, you are promising 50,000 more nurses, 40 new hospitals and 20,000 new policemen. Where’s the money going to come from?
BJ: Need you ask? From Brexit, you nincompoop. Once we’ve got it done.
AB: Quite. But how can you do that without reducing our defence budgets even further?
BJ: That old chestnut again? Really, Al, I’m disappointed in you. Let’s get Brexit done, I say, and defence will take care of itself. Everything will bloody well take care of itself, as Aristotle once said.
AB: Some bleeding hearts out there are attacking you for comparing Muslim women wearing burqas to letter boxes and bank robbers. What’s your response to that?
BJ: Once we’ve got Brexit done, all Her Majesty’s subjects will be able to wear Halloween costumes if they like, no matter how ridiculous that makes them look.
AB: You once wrote a limerick about President Erdogan of Turkey: “There was a young fellow from Ankara// Who was a terrific wankerer// Till he sowed his wild oats// With the help of a goat// But he didn’t even stop to thankera.” Didn’t that upset a key Nato ally?
BJ: Oh for God’s sake, Al, that was a joke. Unlike getting Brexit done, which is dead serious.
AB: You once said, “I have as much chance of becoming Prime Minister as of being decapitated by a frisbee or of finding Elvis.” Your head seems to be in place, so have you found Elvis?
BJ: Never mind what I said then, Al. Here’s what I’m saying now: Get Brexit done.
That was the end of that confidential chat. Afterwards I wished Boris best of luck and congratulated him on his focused, some may say monomaniac, campaign. Get Brexit done, and all the pieces of the Rubik’s cube will click into place.
Let’s just hope that the electorate shares such single-mindedness of purpose. For otherwise… Well, what could happen otherwise doesn’t bear thinking about.