Imagine. About ten years ago, you are a publisher or a TV commissioning editor and someone comes to you with a bright idea. They want to write about a gallivanting scapegrace who has found his way into politics. A fellow who combines the seriousness of Bertie Wooster with the morals of Donald Trump; a strolling player who seems to hold the pieties of middle Britain in cheerful contempt – he is certain to add to the gaiety of nations.
But that does not do justice to his ambitions. They go well beyond clowning. This jackanapes wants to be Prime Minister. That means attracting the support of Tory party members, the sort of people who put the ‘small’ into small-c Conservative. He not only does it: he wins two-to-one. Via Buckingham Palace, the proposal ends with the jester arriving in Downing Street.
If you had received such a proposal, your response would have been predictable.
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