Rebel Tory MPs plotting to oust Boris Johnson claim to have been subjected to blackmail and intimidation by the PM’s allies.
Good. They were very happy.
If Boris does have to fall on his broadsword sooner rather than later, he’ll only have himself to blame.
However, he has the right to all of the support and encouragement from wet behind-the-ears backbenchers. They owe him their young parliamentary careers.
David Davis may have imagined a lucrative, guaranteed income in the Lords. Boris will not be able to forget this if he survives. Frankly, I’m baffled as to why he decided to make his grandiloquent gesture calling on the PM to resign immediately
Surely they didn’t kid themselves that he’d go down without a fight.
William Wragg is vice-chairman for the 1922 Committee. He complains that threats were made against MPs who planned to send letters of confidence.
According to him, they were told by the Prime Minister that they would lose public funding in their constituents if they didn’t follow his lead and embarrassing stories would leak to the Press. Quite right, too.
Why are these snowflakes so afraid of the Whips Office? Blackmail and intimidation are part of the whips’ stock in trade. They dig up dirt about their MPs.
A Tory disgraceful member, with a tiny majority of votes, actually ran across the House and defected this week to Labour. Not so much a matter of conscience as a chicken run, to be instantly forgotten and filed under: Man you’ve never heard of tries to cling on to a job you didn’t know he had
With a Damoclean sword hanging over his political future, Boris would be justified in dragging every single one of these ingrates to the top of Big Ben and dangling them out of the window by their ankles — a bit like Richard Hannay in The 39 Steps.
Politics is not a smooth trade. Willie Wragg should have known this even though he was only 34 years old. In 2015, he was elected for the first time.
He should be able to recognize that backbenchers are being bullied and intimidated by ministers or party leaders. If you can’t take a good kicking now and again, you shouldn’t have joined.
Wragg will even urge intimidated members to report to police. For crying out loud, Yesterday, the Mail stated: “Grow up!”
This week, one dishonourable Tory representative with a small majority defected from Labour to the House floor. Not so much a matter of conscience as a chicken run, to be instantly forgotten and filed under: Man you’ve never heard of tries to cling on to a job you didn’t know he had.
He was wrong to think that his new friends would openly welcome him. Shortly after he’d been paraded in the Commons like a prize poodle at Crufts, local Labour officials in his northern constituency made it abundantly clear they wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.
It’s a great career choice, right? Ouch! And no, I can’t be bothered to name him. He’s a dead man walking, not even worth a footnote when the book on Boris’s inevitable downfall comes to be written.
Most of the other new-intake rebels will also return to well-deserved obscurity after the next election, so they’ve probably got nothing to lose.
A further five to six people are on the verge of leaving in an effort to save their skins. Please let them. Missing you already.
David Davis might have expected a lucrative opportunity in the Lords.
Shortly after he’d been paraded in the Commons like a prize poodle at Crufts, local Labour officials in his northern constituency made it abundantly clear they wanted absolutely nothing to do with him
Boris will be able to forget it if he lives. Frankly, I’m baffled as to why he decided to make his grandiloquent gesture calling on the PM to resign immediately.
He even trotted out that theatrical old cliche ‘In the name of God, go’ — first deployed not by Leo Amery to Neville Chamberlain, but by Oliver Cromwell during the Rump Parliament in 1653.
By the time Davis got to his hind legs at the end of Prime Minister’s Questions it was already apparent that Boris wasn’t going anywhere, at least not this week.
Keir Starmer was as inept and puffy as ever. Either side of him sat Ange ‘Am I Bovvered’ Rayner and another Labour woman in a mask (could have been any of them), waving their little jazz hands at Boris like Sooty and Sweep.
Bye, bye, everybody. Bye, bye.
Davis’s intervention fell flatter than a cowpat. Davis had completely failed to understand the room, and was better advised going straight for a lengthy, fluid lunch.
This must have seemed like an excellent idea at that time.
It is a great shame, as Davis was always on the sidelines of angels when it came to most critical matters. His resignation from Mother Theresa’s Cabinet over her Brexit surrender deal bounced Boris into following suit and paved the way for the Blond Bombshell to achieve his ambition of becoming PM.
Is there a Black Magic secret? Dangerous Davis might still be interested in a last chance at leading.
None of this is to excuse Boris’s blatant betrayals over lockdown, nor his ham-fisted efforts to wriggle out of trouble.
However, most people already have their mind made. The ballot box should decide his fate, and not a court of backbench MPs panicking about their career prospects.
To be honest, I’m bored stiff with this unedifying saga. And that’s probably what most of us are too, despite all the attempts of some sections of media to continue the story until Boris is gone.
On Tuesday, with Russia on the brink of invading Ukraine, a British Islamist headbanger terrorising a synagogue in the U.S., and the world’s number-one tennis player being unceremoniously kicked out of Upsidedownland, the BBC was leading its news bulletins with a report that the Conservative association in Sutton Coldfield had passed a motion of no confidence in the Prime Minister.
Keep the front page.
We now await the verdict of Sue ‘Fifty Shades Of’ Gray. Bring it on, even if you need to inflict or blackmail your way into silence.
Migrants would be sure to return home to Calais if there was a well-placed sonic boom. Better still, they could simply play a selection of Diane Abbott’s speeches over a giant Tannoy
Priti Flamingo has denied claims by Labour’s Diane Abbott that Border Control is planning to set off sonic booms in the Channel to repel asylum seekers arriving by dinghy. I don’t know why. This sounds great to me.
Keep in mind how Guantanamo bay guards used to listen to The Clash loudly to keep prisoners in prison locked in cells. Evidently, the song “I Fought The Law” (And The Law Won”) was very popular.
If a sonic boom was well placed, it would send many migrants back to Calais. Better still, they could simply play a selection of Diane Abbott’s speeches over a giant Tannoy.
If that fails, Black Sabbath could be invited to perform a live concert at the White Cliffs of Dover. It should work if Paranoid turns up the volume to eleven.
A specialist environmental scientist in renewable energy has suggested that new conservatories should be banned. Angela Terry managed the South-East’s first wind farm.
This policy would make it insane for the Tories. It would be a suicide wish for a politician to stand in the way of Middle England voters’ conservatories.
It doesn’t help that Angela Terry was sitting in her own conservatory when she was interviewed on telly. They have a lot to say about those who live in glass homes.
Hope that’s clear as Mud
Thank you to everyone who pointed out that Mud’s lead singer was Les Gray and not Les Reed. Yes, that was what I suspected. You know what I mean? Another senior moment.
Barry Mason and Les Reed were the genius songwriters who created smash hits like Delilah, The Last Waltz, and Delilah. But Les Reed as the singer on Mud’s Tiger Feet?
That’s wrong, that’s wrong, that’s wrong, that’s wrong . . .
We lost one of Fleet Street’s finest this week. Roy Collins, my friend and dearest friend, died at the young age of 73. After an impressive career which saw him as the Chief Sports Writer of the Sunday People, the Now Defunct Today newspapers and many other positions, he decided to retire to Spain.
Roy wrote for The Guardian and Sunday Telegraph with great style.
As tributes by journalists from this week show, he was a hugely loved Essex boy. He was also an Arsenal fan and a blood brother to Muswell Hillbilly. His knowledge was extensive, covering everything boxing, horse racing and tennis to football and soccer.
Uncle Roy was an accomplished mimic — his Basil Fawlty and Frank Spencer immaculate. He also ghost-wrote columns for John McEnroe, and Blessed, his brilliant autobiography of George Best, captured the legend’s voice to perfection.
He was always armed with tonic and a tumbler Tanqueray. He was survived by Sheila and Lucy.
Roy, are we drinking wine?