Boris Johnson was often talked about as the luckiest politician on earth — and in a sense he was. Outrageous fortune powered his ascent. A child of privilege, he always seemed to get away with it, no matter what it might be. In elections, his timing was almost miraculously perfect, culminating in his big win over the hapless Jeremy Corbyn in 2019.
But Lady Luck turned out to be the cruellest mistress Boris ever had. She built him up to tear him down. Now that he’s going, many will delight in his demise. Many will be relieved. Those feelings won’t last. They hate him now. They’ll miss him soon. Nadhim Zahawi? Jeremy Hunt? Liz Truss? Ben Wallace? Tom Tugendhat? Really?
It was Covid, not Chris Pincher’s sexual peccadilloes, that killed Johnson’s premiership — having nearly killed him outright in April 2020.
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