The photos of government parties during lockdown keep coming.
Soon we’ll see footage of the whole Cabinet recreating a Roman orgy in the Treasury Office last New Year’s Eve.
Then Grant Shapps will insist: “I assure you this was a workplace meeting. The nipple clamps were simply used as a quick way to unwind after a gruelling day arranging a trade deal with New Zealand.”
The leaked photos prove how hard they work. Some of them might plead “please let me go home”, but Michael Gove shrieks: “Nonsense. There’s another case of this full-bodied stuff from South Africa to get through, and we’ve hardly started on the Stilton.
“The public has put their trust in us, so it’s our moral duty to stuff the lot.”
So now almost the whole of the country holds them in contempt. Crowds at the darts and the football sing angry sweary songs about Boris Johnson.
If football matches continue without a crowd, instead of apologising to viewers if they can hear the players swearing, the commentators will say: “We apologise for the lack of bad language and abuse towards Boris Johnson this evening.
“We understand some of you will find this offensive.”
Suddenly everyone is scathing about him. It’s become common to hear someone say something like: “They should stick his cheese up his arse and use him as a mousetrap, the floppy-haired useless dingbat.”
Then a presenter says: “Thank you very much, that was the Conservative MP for south-east Dorset.”
Ant and Dec mocked him every night, and there are banners such as the one that says “Boris Johnson lies” across a bridge on the M25.
This sort of thing is everywhere. I expect there’s a poster saying “Boris Johnson is a lying lump of kangaroo dung”, hung by the staff of Mabel’s Tea and Scone Shoppe in Dartmouth, over the display of lemon drizzle cake.
The presenter of Songs of Praise will introduce the programme by saying: “This week we come from the picturesque St. Joseph’s church in Little Tiddlebury, amidst the lush green heart of Wiltshire.
“Reverend Dingbury has been the vicar here for over 30 years, and he’s going to begin this evening’s service by leading the congregation in a rousing chorus of ‘Boris Johnson is a c***’.”
Johnson’s problem is he’s only known for his jolly scatty image.
Unlike Tony Blair or Margaret Thatcher – who stood for a set of ideas, however dreadful – he won’t be able to earn millions from travelling the world speaking at exclusive events.
So once he’s gone, no one will be interested in him.
He’ll be on programmes such as Celebrities go Dogging, judged by a panel of experts.
He’ll even be thrown off that after the first week, as he’s told: “Comb your hair before you pull your trousers down, you scruffy fool.”
Then he’ll try to claim he was only in the car park at 2am as he was at a workplace meeting.
And before long, we’ll put it out of our minds that he was ever, somehow, the person we elected to run the country.