It’s tricky, getting cops to believe you weren’t at a party when there are photos of you partying. Fleet Street Fox watches the legal farce unfolding in Downing Street
Image: AFP via Getty Images)
Now then, now then. Is that the jingle jangle of the gaoler’s keys our hero Boris Johnson can hear approaching Number 10 Downing Street?
Or perhaps it’s a raging mob of pro-lockdown Remainiac neo-Nazis, led by Sir John Major screaming conspiracist slurs on a livestream, in between reminders to throw him some bitcoin.
The Office of the Prime Minister, which Johnson just set up to sort out the PM’s chaotic office, will not be providing a running commentary on the police investigation, opting instead for running interference and briefing ominous threats about a coppers’ coup d’état.
The last chapter of the Trump playbook says “get the lawyers onto it”, so that’s what our hero has done, even though the playbook is written in wax crayon and all the money and donor goodwill has already been spaffed on wallpaper.
As a result, the PM cannot afford the services of even a 77-year-old lunatic who puts his hair dye on with a shoe brush, and is reliant instead on whoever is left behind when everyone else has run screaming from the building.
PM: “Right then, I’ve got this blasted questionnaire, I’ll just say there was no party.”
Last lawyer in London: “They’ve got a photograph.”
PM: “Then I’ll say I implicitly believed it was a work event.”
LLIL: “There are other photographs too. Your wife’s in some of them. Does she run the country?”
PM: “She tells me she’s a private individual who just happens to have her own party-funded spokesman and a habit of using my phone to text people about dogs in Afghanistan. Can’t we try saying I’m in the unique legal situation of my family home also being my workplace?”
LLIL: “It’s so unique that about 30m other people can say the same. If the whole place is your house, you can’t claim you didn’t know about the parties, can you?”
LLIL: “Sod this, I’d have more luck representing Cressida Dick in a wrongful dismissal case.” The door bangs.
The PM picks up the phone. “Cressy, hi, how are you? Ooh, I know, dreadful little man. Anyway I was just wondering if you could help old Bozza out, how would you recommend apologizing for something your staff might have done and which turns out to have been a crime?
Cressida Dick: “Tell them that, if anyone believes these parties caused unimaginable anger, you unconditionally understand that, but it is not usual practice to express retrospective remorse for things there’s no evidence of, especially if my officers don’t look for it. “
PM: “Ah yes, now I remember, you lost control of the police, with the disastrous consequence that they DID start investigating me!”
CD: “There were some other disasters too.”
PM: “Whatevs, wave goodbye to a peerage. Guto! Guto! Get in here, tell me what to write on this damned questionnaire.”
Guto Harri: “Write down ‘Rwy’n glown ac mor euog ag uffern’.”
PM: “Ruin… more… ooh… Done. What does it mean?”
GH: “It says ‘I’m a clown and as guilty as hell’.”
PM: “You’re fired.”
The PM picks up the phone again. “Get me the palace. No, her son. The other one. Not that one. Andy, hi! Look old bean, spot of legal bother chez Bozmeister, you’ve got a lot of experience in this sort of thing, how do you you recommend I fill in this police questionnaire about parties?”
Prince Andrew: “Tell them you were at Nando’s in Market Harborough on the night in question.”
PM: “Nice one, pity is, there’s a photograph.”
PA: “Tell them someone’s photoshopped your hand on that beer can.”
PM: “There’s 300 photos, Andy old chap.”
PA: “Well in that case you’re screwed. Must go, got a Zoom with Rudy Giuliani, going to ask him to take on my case.”
PM: “Sod it, who’s outside? Who wants to see me? Come in, come in, yes, oink, sit down. Listen, what do you think about me filling in this questionnaire saying that I was furious to learn there were parties I wasn’t invited to but may have turned up at after no-one warned me they were not the work events I implicitly thought they must be?”
John Major: “Don’t ask me, the worst thing I ever did was Edwina Currie, and even she’s not illegal.”
Peppa Pig: “I do not like parties! OINK. Unless they are MY parties. You are a SILLY Prime Minister. SNORT.”
PM: “For heaven’s sake, Peppa, I’m not going to tell the Fuzz about snorting! There are enough problems to be going on with. Or, ooh, hang on, would that be a dead cat to divert attention from the parties ?”
David Moyes: “For f***’s sake, man, whatever you do don’t bring cats into it.”
Action Images via Reuters)
PM: “Well perhaps I can say that I was present, but not involved with the tinsel? Or the champagne, or the crisps, or the cheese? Well I’ll have to cough to the cheese, look at me. How about if I say I was ambushed by beer?
Professor Chris Whitty: “Prime Minister, I’d like to speak to you about lifting all Covid restrictions when the pandemic’s only halfway through, and that’ll mean not enough get the updated vaccines this winter, and lots of people will die, again , because you wanted the Daily Mail to say it’s Freedom Day, for what I think is the third time…”
PM: “Look, the important thing here is that we’re going to IGNORE Covid! And I’m going to ignore you, Whitty! That should fix everything. Is there anyone here who’s got some useful advice for how to deal with the party police?
Coleen Rooney: “I am the party police, la. And I reckon it’s not a good thing for you to be unsupervised.”
Sergei Lavrov: “The Russian Federation is always happy to listen. In fact, dat was our wallpaper.”
PM: “Cripes! Officer, I confess! Arrest me! Anything, just get me out of here before Carrie speaks to either of them!”
*PM exits stage left, pursued by a cat*
George Holan is chief editor at Plainsmen Post and has articles published in many notable publications in the last decade.