Eyes down, ye players of apocalypse bingo, as we move beyond a European elections campaign where we learned that milkshakes are “political violence” and rape threats are “satire”. Theresa May’s premiership has literally ended in tears, following an audaciously self-parodic speech about compromise. The Tories have signed on for several weeks of leadership contest – a sort of summer camp for excluded adults, where activities include aggravated fratricide, country-shafting and horrifying unforced errors in truth or dare.
Like her cricketing hero Geoff Boycott, and also Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now, May has spent weeks refusing to be given out. Multiple final gambits included a speech this week in which she served up her same withdrawal agreement for consideration yet again. Unsurprisingly, even her supporters declined this shit sandwich, which they believe is distinguished by being the sort of shit sandwich where the bread is also made of shit.
Andrea Leadsom resigned, forcing a mini-reshuffle. This was not so much rearranging the deckchairs on the Titanic, as getting into James Cameron’s mini-submarine, dropping to the wreck 12,500ft below, sweeping down the rusticle-festooned grand staircase, and swapping out one of the light fittings because it looks “a bit much”.
Still on staircases, Downing Street’s Norma Desmond is finally to descend hers on 7 June. Gallingly, she must still put up with noises off from her former chief of staff. Nick Timothy really is the Paul Burrell of politics, dining out shamelessly on his various betrayals of his former boss. Nick used this week’s Telegraph column to state that “warning signs” were there from the start with May’s personality, that the 2017 election was “a disaster” and the Tory campaign “poor”. Dramatists, is there such a thing as reverse character development, where the character actually knows less at the end than he did at the beginning? Where his understanding of the situation is akin to a highly unstable radioactive isotope with an incredibly short half-life? Because really: THIS GUY.
Then again: ALL OF US. It feels like we’re back where we were in July 2016, only with many, many more things broken. Haven’t we already found out what happened when Andrea Leadsom launches a leadership bid? Isn’t she still Brexit’s second-stupidest Andrea (Jenkyns will always edge it)? Don’t we know what Boris Johnson’s like? Why are we doing it again? It’s like there’s some tear in the worst-possible ideas continuum.
Perhaps this explains the continuity errors. Three weeks ago I was reading that Gavin Williamson’s career as a “would-be kingmaker” had ended in ignominy. I feel slightly confused to now be reading that Gavin Williamson is widely seen as a “potential kingmaker”. Fyre festival influencer, surely? Incredibly, we seem not to have seen the back of Williamson, whose terrible grin suggests a QVC presenter who is as comfortable drawing your attention to the marquise cut of a diamonique ring as he is falsely claiming his co-presenter is an alcoholic, so he can get the high-rating afternoon slot all to himself.
Arguably this morning’s most amusing development was Helen Grant resigning as Tory vice-chair to openly support Dominic Raab. Is this the same Dominic Raab who resigned in protest at a Brexit deal he himself negotiated as Brexit secretary, and who is bizarrely being talked up as a strong candidate? Righto. It was Swift (Jonathan) who warned: “It is the folly of too many to mistake the echo of a London coffee-house for the voice of the kingdom.” And it was Swift (Taylor) who said: “Darling I’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream.” I don’t want to come over all Mystic Meg, but I am seeing a nightmarish news story in Dominic Raab’s future that will curtail any bid in fairly short order.
With an estimated 187 candidates running, meanwhile, it’s a relief to find some ruling themselves out. Plymouth MP and self-styled coming man, Johnny Mercer, this week confided to his secret diary (Twitter): “I am not good enough to be PM yet.” Is there anyone more Pooterish than Mercer? His recent letter informing May he wouldn’t be voting on any other legislation except Brexit began with some fantastically obscure reference to a conversation a Tory whip apparently had about him. “Dear prime minister,” it ran. “You will have seen, I am sure, the recent events concerning your government whips’ office.” Babe, I think she’s probably had more important things to do than keep up with the Mercerverse?
Serving Boris Johnson is its own reward, of course, and Mercer is sure to be a good soldier for his declared candidate, who he claims would “unite the party and the nation, and govern from the centre in a modern, compassionate, optimistic manner”. If you’re drinking Bacardi.
And so to Johnson’s entourage – or the men-tourage, if you will. These are the henchboys who flutter round him, whose rage and rivalries give the thing an air of a grim prison drama in which inmates have nicknames like Candyass or Jacob Rees-Mogg.
No surprise to find Williamson there, of course, with the big question being how possible rival Michael Gove will play it after what we’ll euphemise as “Last Time”. Have to say the season two tension between these two is crackling. Last Time, you may recall, Johnson backer Jake Berry MP took to his secret diary (Twitter) to thunder of Gove “there is a very deep pit in hell for those such as he”. Another Johnson supporter judged that “Gove is a cunt who set this up from the start”, while Ben Wallace MP disagreed with Gove’s self-identification with Tyrion Lannister. “He is actually Theon Greyjoy,” he stated, “or will be by the time I’ve finished with him.”
Expect much, much more of this – particularly the quintessential Tory phenomenon of complete basics explaining Game of Thrones to you. Yes, I’m afraid there’s no escape for any of us, because the Conservative party is at it again. Even though we still know what they did three summers ago.