Britain has been on something of a roller coaster ride in the last few weeks, and I’ve been looking on in fascinated horror. My worst fears were confirmed when a majority of compatriots chose the nuclear option, otherwise known as Brexit. With the resignation of Cameron, I fully expected Boris Johnson to fulfil his long-held ambition of standing for Leader of the Conservative Party and becoming the next Prime Minister.
The first shock was when Michael Gove turned round and metaphorically stabbed Boris in the chest with his declaration that he, Gove, would be in the race after years of denying that he had any ambition to become PM. A real “Et tu, Brute” moment. The second shock was when Johnson subsequently declared that he was withdrawing from the race.
Then the other candidates in the race declared themselves, and what a sorry bunch they were. The only candidate of worth being Theresa May, and while she is very capable, I’ve never been a fan of hers because she seems to have had a humanity bypass when it comes to dealing with immigration questions. Fortunately, the others fell flat on their faces, quite spectacularly in the case of Andrea Leadsom, with her denial of having played the motherhood card against the childless May. Unfortunately for Leadsom, the audio recording of the interview proved her denial worthless, and she withdrew from the race.
So Theresa is triumphant, and is now ensconced as Prime Minister. She’s gutted Cameron’s Cabinet – sacked Gove, and Stephen Crabb has resigned (or was he pushed?).
And then, and then, she announces that the new Foreign Secretary is to be Boris Johnson…
Just when we thought that things couldn’t get any worse, BoJo’s back, and as Foreign Secretary, no less. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry – and it would seem that that’s a common feeling shared by governments around the world.
Oh lord, give me strength.