Boris has played me like a violin twice in my life — even appealing to my conscience
At the time of writing, the outcome of the London Mayoral election is still unknown, but I am rooting for Boris, obviously. Doubts have been raised about his ability to run a city like London, but he possesses at least one essential attribute of a great leader: he is a fine judge of men.
I discovered this in 1985 when we were both undergraduates at Oxford. I was in my second year and, by some miracle, I had managed to secure the editorship of a magazine called Tributary that was modelled on Private Eye. Trib has long been consigned to the dustbin of history, but back then it was one of the better-known of the student publications and Boris decided it would make a good feather in his cap.
He was too grand to approach me directly so he sent along an emissary in the form of Darius Guppy. Darius subsequently found fame as a convicted fraudster, but back then he was one of the two or three most glamorous members of the university on account of the fact that he ran the Piers Gaveston Society. Named after Edward II’s gay lover, the Gaveston held termly dinners at which the members dressed up as women. Its annual debauch was renowned for being the most decadent party of its day and usually ended with a full-blown orgy. (‘Dress: Roman Camp’ read one invitation.)
Darius had a simple proposition to put to me: hand over the editorship to Boris and I’ll make you a member of the Gaveston. If I had been a more high-minded undergraduate, I would have been scandalised by such a blatant bribe, but Boris had the measure of his man.
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