WE’VE lost control of a few councils. Labour haven’t triumphed but we’re struggling. F**k all that. What does it mean for Britain’s main character, me?
Why should the World King be concerned that a different group of unpaid busybodies are filling seats in dreary council chambers, wasting their pathetic lives with planning applications?
I’m not. But the little suits who buzz around this place like flies claim I should be. ‘We’ve lost Westminster!’ they panic. ‘We’ve lost Wandsworth!’ Do they not realise I got bored with London in 2016?
The real election isn’t for years yet. There’s plenty of time for Britain to learn to love Boris again. This is the second act in the rom-com where the couple fall out only to get triumphantly back together by 2024.
Have the people risen as one to demand my ousting? Did the Tories not get a single vote north of Watford? Do the Labour wins spell out ‘PISS OFF BORIS’ across a map of London?
No, no and again no. Which means that the British people, as I’ve said all along, don’t care in the slightest about ‘partygate’, couldn’t give a bugger about our botched Brexit, and realise that ten per cent inflation is necessary to achieve a high-skill, high-wage economy.
My position is not under threat. There will be no rebellion. I will never resign. These elections are of no more consequence to me than the heats of Britain’s Got Talent.
I’m going back to bed. Don’t bother me again unless it actually matters.