The teens and I were watching Love Island when the news broke – a text message, to my son, from a buddy: ‘Is it true that Boris fired your father?!’
A split second later my phone also pinged. It was my friend Rachel (Johnson, Boris’ sister): ‘My brother just fired your ex!!’ Blimey, I thought. Even I didn’t expect that.
Suddenly, the surgically enhanced tonsil hockey at Casa Amor didn’t seem so gripping.
‘Get it on speakerphone, put it on speakerphone!’ my daughter screamed. So we have him on speaker (Michael, not Boris). What the hell happened?
“Well,” he explained, “the Prime Minister called me a few minutes ago and said it was time to step back. I said respectfully, “Prime Minister, if anyone has to take a step back, it’s you.” †
‘Continue!’ my son said, jumping off the couch and slamming into the air.
He seemed authentic and a little dangerous in a world of inauthentic, vanilla politicians. And that identity served him well when it came to Brexit, itself an act of rebellion against the gray blob of Brussels. But there’s a downside to that Boris bombshell persona, and that’s where the problems begin
‘What are you going to do now?’ I asked. “Have a glass of wine and a slice of salami and see what tomorrow brings,” he replied.
What tomorrow brought was, of course, the resignation of the Prime Minister, after the resignation of virtually everyone of any significance.
What comes next, your guess is just as good as mine. But I doubt it will be clear. This psychodrama has only just begun.
“It can only get better,” a triumphant Boris basher tweeted on Twitter.
Could be. But only after they get much worse first.
Again, the Tory party has gotten itself out of the way. It has wrested defeat from the jaws of an 80-seat victory.
I still don’t quite see what there is to gain politically from getting rid of him. There is no brilliant replacement waiting in the wings, and the country could really do without the disruption of an entire summer of rudderless government, or worse, a quick general election.
Mainly because, as prime ministers say, he was by no means the worst this country has seen.
He delivered Brexit, albeit imperfectly – but after the horrors Theresa May made of it, it was a miracle he managed it at all.
Like every other leader on the planet, he was caught off guard by Covid – but handled the pandemic with courage and vision, rolled out the vaccination program in record time and pulled the country out of lockdown as quickly as possible.
He knew exactly about the war in Ukraine and quickly sprang into action to offer Britain’s support against Russia.
On the big things, as the cliché goes, he was good. Better than good actually. But in politics that is no longer enough.
In our brutal age of social media, the personal and the political are inextricably intertwined. You cannot be a financially illiterate bon vivant – like Johnson’s idol Churchill – and a respected statesman in the Chamber at the same time.
Mainly because, as prime ministers say, he was by no means the worst this country has seen. He made Brexit, albeit imperfectly – but after the horrors Theresa May made of it, it was a miracle he managed it at all
It’s not enough to be a serious politician; you also have to be a serious person. And the problem with Johnson is that he just isn’t. That was ultimately his downfall.
Everything that has gone wrong for him – the lockdown parties, the questionable donations, the dinners with oligarchs, the misplaced loyalties, the tenuous understanding of the facts – it all stems from that.
The first time I experienced this was years ago. At the time, Boris was running for mayor of London and doing a fundraising campaign. My (now) ex-husband and I had been to dinner the night before where Boris was speaking.
It was a disaster. I remember arriving late, delivering a thoroughly lax performance, and leaving early, disappointing those in attendance, many of whom were amazed that such a man could even think about a life in politics. He seemed incapable of making a sandwich, let alone a donor hall.
The next day Michael called Boris and handed him both barrels. How dare he waste everyone’s time and effort like that; Didn’t Boris realize how many people had put in the effort to organize that night for him? It was embarrassing, it was rude – and, worst of all, it was irresponsible.
Boris was suitably remorseful. “Sorry, Governor, I hear you, Governor,” was his reply, using his usual shy charm. It was not. Michael hung up.
Despite being nearly twenty years ago, the incident remains in my mind because a) I’ve never seen Michael so angry and b) it’s symbolic of Johnson’s biggest problem, one that is at the root of all his problems: he just can’t take it seriously.
Ironically, this diabolical light-heartedness, this spirit of rebellion, was of course also what endeared him to so many in the first place. Men admired his disdain for authority, women swooned at his badboy appeal.
What Michael understood is that if you’re going to aspire to the highest office in the land, if you’re going to set the rules by which the rest of us have to live, if you’re going to demand honesty and integrity from those around you, then you have to giving a good example
He seemed authentic and a little dangerous in a world of inauthentic, vanilla politicians. And that identity served him well when it came to Brexit, itself an act of rebellion against the gray blob of Brussels.
But there’s a downside to that Boris bombshell persona, and that’s where the problem begins. That’s the side that makes him sloppy and careless, makes him cut corners, makes him think he can cover up his mistakes, or dismiss criticism as gimmicky and pedantic.
In short, because of that he thinks he can get away with anything, because he is, let’s not forget, ‘king of the world’.
The second time I saw this arrogance – and it is, I think, arrogance, born of his upbringing, his education at Eton, his time at Oxford and the Bullingdon – was in 2016, just after the vote on the EU referendum .
Much of that time remains a blur, as I was dealing with a lot of personal conflict and confusion. But again, some moments stand out, like snapshots, from those eventful few days.
Against all odds, Brexit had won. Shortly after, David Cameron resigned, sparking a series of political aftershocks.
Suddenly – and against the odds – Michael, Boris and the rest of the Vote Leave team were responsible for making the wishes of 17.5 million people come true. It was intense, to say the least.
Everyone was exhausted, but they threw themselves at it. Meetings, phone calls, speeches, media rounds – it was relentless. Boris ran to replace Cameron, while Michael had decided – largely at my command – not to.
The second time I saw this arrogance – and it is, I think, arrogance, born of his upbringing, his education at Eton, his time at Oxford and in the Bullingdon – was in 2016, just after the vote on the EU referendum .
Support had to be obtained, deals had to be made – all the usual things that happen in a leadership contest.
Everyone did everything they could to get Boris elected. Except, it seemed, for one person: Boris. While the rest of the team was breaking some guts, he seemed to have pulled a leaf out of Cameron’s book — and mostly seemed to be chilling out.
He would meet so-and-so; not him. He had to write a letter; not him. To call; didn’t happen. Oh I’ll do it in the morning, oh I left it at home. Not quite the dog ate my homework, but not far away. Sometimes he just left, leaving the team looking for excuses.
Everyone took things deadly seriously; Meanwhile, Boris seemed to think it was all just one big joke.
Things finally came to a head when the team found him, at home in the countryside, flipping burgers, drinking rosé and playing cricket with his friends, while the fate of Brexit – something he’d supposedly been so passionate about, that brought down a government that had overthrown everyone’s world order – was at stake.
That evening Michael walked through the front door with an ashen face. “I made a terrible mistake,” he said. “Boris is a disaster.” And the rest, as they say, is history.
Michael paid a very high price—both politically and personally—for that judgment. As we’ve seen from this week’s events, Boris has never quite forgiven him—and who can blame him.
It’s hard at the best of times to hear the truth about yourself, even harder when it’s from an old friend. As it was again this week when Michael told him the game was over.
But in the end it was the right decision. Because what Michael understood is that if you’re going to aspire to the highest office in the land, if you’re going to set the rules by which the rest of us have to live, if you’re going to demand honesty and integrity from those around you, then you have to lead by example.
You can’t cut corners, you can’t flutter, you can’t give your enemies even the tiniest bit of ammunition. Especially if what you are trying to do is difficult and controversial, such as Brexit. You must be absolutely untouchable. And Boris was unfortunately not.