Brian Reade says this was a landmark week in the dictatorship of disinformation we now live under – nobody believes we’re being led anymore, just lied to
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As you open your advent calendar today and pick out your latest piece of chocolate, spare a thought for Boris Johnson.
Once again, when he awakes and his mind opens, he’ll see and smell a different kind of brown object. The type he’s knee-deep in, which will remind him there are only 14 more dung days to be avoided until everyone gets drunk at Christmas and forgets about the stench enveloping 10 Downing Street.
That’s the place where lockdown parties are held and rooms are lavishly done up, although nobody knows who went to the boozy bashes or paid the decorators.
It’s also where our elected leader is supposed to be running the country from, although nobody believes we’re being led anymore. Just lied to.
This was a landmark week in the dictatorship of disinformation we now live under. Even Tory commentators admitted that the parody of truth Britain elected as PM has reached the point of no return. Because finally all those mugs who believed in him could see he was laughing at them.
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Ever since he’s been in power, Johnson and his cronies have been laughing at the rest of us, especially traditional Labour voters from the North and Midlands who elected him to Get Brexit Done. How many times do you think they have aped their accents and referred to them as ill-educated plebs for swallowing the “levelling-up” nonsense?
It was lovely watching northern Tories at PMQs recoil in shame and horror as the reality about who they had pledged allegiance to, had dawned. And how badly that will go down on the doorstep when they beg working-class people to re-elect them.
Johnson had little sympathy for his backbenchers though, reserving it for his adviser Allegra Stratton, who resigned for laughing as she rehearsed denying knowledge of a Christmas party that happened on the day 489 Britons died from Covid.
I’m guessing at every Number 10 interview you have to show your contempt for the Little People. Just as Johnson did as a journalist when he derided children of single mothers as “ill-raised, ignorant, aggressive and illegitimate” and claimed working-class fathers are likely “to be drunk, criminal, aimless, feckless and hopeless”.
That’s the same feckless dad who now has seven known children from three different women, the latest two being raised in taxpayer-funded housing.
Despairing Tories are asking why Johnson keeps shooting himself in the foot but the answer is simple. It’s because he’s always believed he has a divine right for that foot to be fixed by someone. That he was born to travel in first class, excused of all mistakes.
Why should he imagine any lasting offence was caused by the Downing Street parties when after those destructive, boozy Bullingdon Club nights at Oxford, all damage was hushed up by money.
This week has been the equivalent of Donald Trump’s final days in office when he encouraged his followers to lay siege to Capitol Hill. The moment all the ignored warnings and blind-eye turnings by those who trusted Johnson came back to haunt them.
The moment they realised they had tied themselves to a sociopath wearing a clown’s mask.
I’d laugh too, if it wasn’t for the fact that the rest of the world is laughing at us, and these are dangerous times.