24 Jul 19
The Irish Sun
THE Tory leadership campaign has gone on longer than Love Island and the outcome is largely the same — everyone gets screwed in the end.
The revolt and anger over the arrival of Boris Johnson as leader has made the division over Tony Blair’s final years look like a minor tiff.
Jeremy Hunt and Boris Johnson
Conservative ministers not only resigned, refusing to serve under him, but one even tried to have parliament block him becoming Britain’s new Prime Minister.
The rage wasn’t confined to the home country.
An op-ed in the New York Times predicted that Boris Johnson would “end Britain”.
It was among the most-read articles on its website for days.
It forecast that Bojo’s crash-out, no-deal agenda would lead to another Scottish indie referendum and nudge a United Ireland closer.
“Mr Johnson,” it railed, “whose laziness is proverbial and opportunism legendary, is a man well practised in deceit…his personal life is incontinent, his public record inconsequential.” Ouch.
The dearth of respect for him is evident in the support he attracts.
Among his fans is Donald Trump himself, but even that taco-fries-in-a-suit trails behind the figure of Jacob Rees-Mogg.
Another is Dominic Raab, the man who admitted he didn’t realise that exports came through Britain’s ports and who resigned after slamming the withdrawal deal that he had just negotiated.
Both reptilian fools are likely to make Johnson’s cabinet along with arch-twerp Michael Gove.
Theresa May’s lowest hour is surely not just her disastrous snap election in 2017, or her handling of the Grenfell fire, or even the time she was laughed out of a room of EU leaders in Brussels, or the third time her deal was defeated in the Commons.
Her worst hour comes today, when she visits her Queen to recommend Boris Johnson takes her place in Downing Street.
Theresa May was like the winter sun, very bright but not very warm. Her successor is the July heatwave, sunny, but everyone will get burned eventually.
As he enters the shiny door of Number Ten this afternoon, Boris Johnson fulfils a lifelong ambition, proving that by working hardly, dreaming til noon, copping out and sneaking in, you too can scurry your way to the very top.
He has over-promised and will under-deliver — a carbon copy of his coin-toss decision to join the Brexit campaign and stand next to a bus-sized lie for photo heroics in the summer of 2016.
As London Mayor he continually praised the “diverse”, “multicultural” virtues of the British capital.
As Brexit champion, he took the reverse course, shouting about taking back control of immigration.
Johnson was willing to do literally anything to become PM and he plans to do even worse to stay as PM.
His only cabinet post before taking the reigns was as Foreign Secretary, a tenure so poor that he avoided alluding to it for much of the campaign.
That said it all.
The British Foreign Office was constantly cleaning up after his gaffs.
A BBC insider doc on the department revealed civil servants struggling to remain calm as they talked him out of blunders.
One memorable sequence showed him shooting a video for Twitter over and over as he couldn’t remember basic facts about Lisbon he had just been briefed on.
In the Department of Foreign Affairs in Dublin, one particular story was doing the rounds recently.
At the end of a phonecall with his then foreign affairs counterpart Simon Coveney, Johnson asked what he thought of the idea of a bridge between Ireland and Britain.
Coveney laughed and ended the call assuming it was a joke, until his officials pointed out that Johnson may have been serious.
A few weeks later, The Daily Telegraph reported Bojo was backing a DUP proposal to build a 24-mile bridge between the North and Scotland.
He spoke to Simon Coveney again and asked him if he had thought any more about the bridge.
The ever-serious Simon was perplexed. “I thought you were joking?” he said. “And hang on, didn’t you just promise the DUP you’d back their bridge to Scotland?” It was Johnson’s turn to laugh. “Oh don’t mind that, I was only having them on.”
The episode is shared among senior civil servants in Dublin as a demonstration that either Boris can’t tell his own jokes from his own guff or that he literally never means a thing he says.
The important thing to remember though, is that Boris Johnson isn’t stupid. He’s just reckless with facts.
And now he’s about to begin a monumental game of chicken with Ireland and the EU.
A no-deal exit at Hallowe’en is terrible for everyone and Johnson is banking that Europe will blink first to avoid the head-on collision.
He has what he’s always wanted and that’s all that matters for now.
Throughout a privileged life, Boris Johnson’s grand plan, is that there is no plan.
[boxout headline=”Bojo’s diary” featured-image=”4361501″]ONCE the Mare of London, now I’m the stallion of Downing Street. Great thundering clapsticks!
Boris has only gone and smashed the leadership race.
I worked harder than I ever did to win.
In that I managed to walk upright 60 per cent of the time, waved a kipper at a crowd, washed twice, only had the cops called on me once and achieved half an erection.
That latter incident occurred when I caught sight of a slim blonde bombshell staring at me longingly, though it turned out to be my own reflection in a wonky mirror that tightens the love handles.
I am at last the dude of Whitehall, having once been the dud of London.
Boris bikes, remember those? So-called as I rode my way across the city.
Now I shall enter Number Ten and . . . she will love every minute of it. Bom chicka wa wa!!!
Ipso chipsticks, I must assemble my dream team cabinet.
Raab, Rees-Mogg and Gove are shoo-ins, or Thick, Brick and Twit as I call them.
I am Captain Britannia come from the 1940s to take back our borders from the Huns, the Pats and the Francs.
My shield shall be some right stomping good Paddy Irishman jokes and such.
In the end I will emerge victorious and win the girl. At least I think that’s what happens at the end of Captain America?
I haven’t seen the film as I only watch the ones with rumpy pumpy in ‘em.
The work begins, to run the remains of the United Kingdom, until death do us part, or I get bored and retire to the country to make model buses out of the empty crates that our exports used to be dispatched in. BoJo.[/boxout]
[boxout headline=”Creaking system is only the first drop” featured-image=”4361508″]
ANOTHER busy weekend in Dublin, more water shortages.
As 50,000 people arrived in Drumcondra for Croker’s double-header on Sunday, the taps went off.
Even as downpours lashed down on the city, there wasn’t a drop of the stuff to be found indoors, putting huge pressure on pubs and hotels entertaining the crowds.
Ice ran out and insanitary conditions developed as the loos couldn’t be flushed and punters were unable to wash their hands. The water didn’t return until Monday.
It came just weeks after the water went off during Dublin Pride when 60,000 people landed in the south city centre to find out-of-order toilets and sinks during another busy weekend.
Is this the foreseeable future for Dublin as the water crisis worsens? June also saw that vast sewage plume enter Dublin Bay, closing beaches.
Amid these incidents, Irish Water started a campaign urging people to conserve water by not running the tap while brushing your teeth and to shower rather than have a bath.
One gets the feeling there is worse to come and that the water system is creaking at the seams.
Yesterday, Irish Water’s website listed 24 separate incidents of water outages across the city due to burst pipes, maintenance and leak probes.
When you consider the long term plan to keep the taps on in Dublin involves piping water from the River Shannon across 170km of rural Ireland, you being to wonder if there’s anyone in charge anymore.[/boxout]
Nothing special but his talent
SHANE Lowry is officially Ireland’s favourite person called Lowry, perhaps even in Tipp. Has there ever been a more lovable sports hero?
I watched the end of the Open on the big screen in the Croke Park hotel minutes after the exciting finish of Kerry v Donegal.
Usually Jones’ Road gets fierce quiet after the final whistle, but hundreds queued in the rain to see the Open finish, delaying the long drive back to Mayo, Kerry and Donegal and Meath.
Fans from all four counties cheered when Lowry lifted the Claret Jug (now dubbed the Clara Jug).
It was extra sweet to see an Irish winner take the coveted Major in a part of Northern Ireland that wouldn’t exactly be familiar with the words to the Offaly Rover.
Shane Lowry is the perfect champion.
While Rory McIlroy divides fans, Lowry stands out as a man who knows who he is.
He is far removed from the millions of euro sloshing around golf.
Down to earth and sound, there are few winners who are quite as accessible as the cuddly young dad. Who else could get away with belting out the Fields of Athenry bleary-eyed in a club and hugging the publican of an early house in Dublin?
How? There’s the fact that he was an emotional winner.
[article-rail-section title=”MOST READ IN NEWS” posts_category=”4843″ posts_number=”6″ query_type=”popular” /]
That he’s not exactly Love Island beach-bod material. That he’s the epitome of Offaly, that most understated of counties. That he went to modest Athlone IT.
He is perhaps our most relatable sports icon.
He even comes with an adorable brandy-drinking granny.