I had barely finished one joke about the PM’s rollercoaster week when it was overtaken by events
I first filed this supposedly funny column, about Boris Let the Bodies Pile High in Their Thousands Johnson’s wallpaper, at 8pm on Wednesday, 15 glorious hours before the Thursday 11am deadline. Now I could enjoy a leisurely morning cycle to a Pret a Manger™ ® breakfast bap with my name on it and some passive-aggressive banter with the private security company policeman by Buck Street Market, who tried to move me on because lockdown hair has made me look homeless. Does he know who I am? It seems having a bi-weekly Observer column counts for nothing.
But then I sat up late watching the rolling news tide wash away my prematurely posted Observer sandcastle of satire. Johnson is being investigated, the flat redecoration fumble threatening a general unravelling of greater threads of corruption. It’s strange that Johnson’s fate may be sealed by the furnishings of Lulu Lytle, the kind of costly kitsch interior designer beloved by people who fly to Glastonbury in private helicopters with wraps of coke in their Hunter wellingtons and only emerge from the VIP area to enjoy Lionel Richie ironically.
