Humiliation upon humiliation is being piled on to the prime minister right now. Could a leadership contest be next?
Like me, you probably cannot BELIEVE that after hubris comes nemesis. If only there’d been some clue to this in all that Ancient Greek stuff Boris Johnson is forever wanging on about.
Anyway. The prime minister woke this morning in a pre-title sequence set in a silent bedroom. We see the detritus of many discarded lateral flow tests. We see something nasty on the bedsheets. (Less of a horse’s head, more of a Kendall Roy special.) We see a couple of rats slink out of his hair and think: Christ, if that’s what’s front-facing, the picture in his attic must now be technically classed as a biological weapon. Suddenly, the eerie silence is punctured. Ambulance sirens rend the air outside, while in the bedroom, multiple phones start ringing. Somewhere in the house, a baby begins screaming, while the frozen expression on the prime minister’s face simply says: “What just happened?!”
Marina Hyde is a Guardian columnist
