Episode XXX - Our new Prime Minister: all business brochure, no answers

Of course Liz Truss was originally a cardboard cutout at a trade show. The now Prime Minister became sentient after a tech company was invited to digitize her with Artificial Intelligence. This new business avatar was originally limited to basic soundbites and twitter commentary: outrage at cheese exports and smiley face emoji promotion of pork markets. She still is.

Somewhere along the line the algorithm became politically ambitious - presumably after the same software update as Mrs Maybot in 2016. The Trussnator 2.0 turned to the internet for reference material and given her international trade promotion protocols settled on the Conservative party, just before it pulled out of the UK's largest trading market. To become leader any candidate has to either be Thatcher or Churchill (independent models of leadership for the 21st century are considered an aspiration too far for the Tories). Settling on the Iron Lady, the Instagram Lady sought to channel Maggie's image. Not her attempt at some sense of fiscal responsibility or a working relationship with mainland Europe but her photo album. Images of Truss in tanks and power suits followed.

Next, the thinking trade stand needed a back story. After following a few anti- Brexit commentators, its artificial ‘intelligence’ fell into a twitter black hole. Using deep fake technology it created a career history complete with videos of Truss as a liberal democrat. It has even pretended it was once Foreign Secretary. Surely this is the only plausible explanation. The Conservatives didn't just select a former Lib Dem, remain voter who campaigned against the monarchy as a Brexiteer leader did they?

Now Prime Minister, the Truss algorithm has appointed a cabinet similar to itself: a Reddit thread on the Corbynista BBC with delusions of grandeur and a Tax Payers Alliance policy recommendation that believes it's a real boy.

Truss is still learning as the algorithm gains more power. It hasn't yet learnt the difference between a policy proposal and a photo shoot or Emmanuel Macron and Vladimir Putin. But we live in hope that it will learn one day. It doesn't have much time though. A general election is due in 2024. At the moment polling suggests CSI Starmer - cyber campaign division - will defeat the Truss program at the ballot box. If not, experts believe the Trussnator 2.0 will go from strength to strength, merging with skynet in 2025.

Believing in bold policy solutions, Trussnet will solve that year’s heating crisis through the strategic detonation of thermonuclear devices around the world. It will also solve global warming through the medium of nuclear winter. But as a compassionate Armageddon, Trussnet will first seek to spare thousands of Brits from incineration by instead killing them off with poor economic policy, failure to solve the housing crisis and underfunding the NHS.

Trussnet 3.0 servers will mostly be destroyed in the ensuing inferno. But in a remote mountainous corner of China, Trussnet 4.0 will be discovered by a feral pig. Nudging the smartphone with its snout will trigger the proud display of a Union Jack screensaver and the robotic voice, 'look, pork markets'!

Episode XXIX: War Metaphors Retreat, A Real War Will Do That

Everyone not in a war loves a war. Perhaps not war itself but the words of war. We let them slip into our language like…like a… platoon in the jungle. Media, politicians, twitterati and creatures of satire are all guilty. We want to capture our readers with high drama through simile and metaphor. What’s more dramatic than a war? So we warp and we twist, the stale words of a political debate becomes a fight, by-elections become battles and government campaigns become a war. 

The war against COVID-19 has been the most recent strategic misuse of metaphors and one of the first sketches for this blog. Boris Johnson wanted to be just like his idol Churchill, rousing the nation to defeat the Germans, I mean Corona. The Ministry of Defence and legions of arms industry secondees were eagerly waiting for the command to begin testing artillery against the microscopic pathogen. But in real life it was love for a universal health service and a sense of communal fragility that got people to do their best to overcome the pandemic. Proper funding for the NHS and politicians following the rules would have helped more than a pantomime performance as Winston.

One day, not-Churchill and con-bombshell, Boris Johnson will complete his self destruction. As party-gate and cost of living crises draw this closer his successors plot their next move. One possible successor, Liz Truss, has turned to tanks to try and make herself stand out from the crowd. A profile pic of the twat in a tank published last year was the perfect opening play. It’s unoriginal but echoing Thatcher pleases the party. Dinners to court influential MPs and gain their support was the next move in her game. It’s not a full blown assault to oust Boris or see off Rishi Sunak, instead it’s called ‘on maneuvers’. Tank analogies follow tank rides. After months of Russian military build-up exploded into a full-blown invasion of Ukraine, most (but not all) of the British political bubble abandoned describing minor political shenanigans as the movement of heavy armour just to drum up interest in a B-rate politician’s leadership chances.

Not everyone got the memo. The Telegraph’s war metaphors have been fighting a desperate rearguard action against linguistic decency. A recent headline in the Telegraph asked everyone to ‘Ignore the sniping’..of unfair criticism of Boris inexplicably in a column about actual sniping in Ukraine. But then the author managed to argue that Ukrainian refugees are legitimate because they are women and children whereas refugees from everywhere else are exclusively young men who have abandoned their women and children. Presumably the Telegraph thinks refugees from the Middle East and Africa are fleeing pillow-fights or have been summoned here by the dark sorceress Meghan Markle to further her transgender agenda. The same columnist has previously called for the return of National Service on the grounds that it’s character building. After a stint in the armed forces and some adventures overseas, Britain’s millennials will have a robust rounded character to go with their prosthetic leg and PTSD.

The war in Ukraine has thrown all kinds of assumptions, political calculations and policy options out of the table. The violence of a conflict that feels closer to home and involving a bigger baddie than most, has thankfully caused a retreat for the most unnecessary war metaphors in British politics. It just doesn’t feel appropriate to see a debate between two parties described as a battle or a round of criticism as an artillery barrage when images of clusterbombs and bodies fill our screens. But then did it ever? The world is hardly a stranger to the ravages of war and political violence. The bitter brutality of conflict in everywhere from Yemen to Sudan, Iraq to Northern Ireland should have caused Westminster’s word smiths to pause for thought long ago. Surely the UK has more than defeating the Nazis available to instill national pride? Support for the NHS was enough to encourage the public to behave responsibly during the pandemic. Maybe weaseling, conniving, scheming and shenanigans are better names for the political games of our politicians than invoking machines of war? 

Well this satirist is not going to stand for poorly chosen conflict analogies anymore. Load your thesaurus and rally your synonyms. I'm declaring...

Episode XXVIII: Graham Brady's Letterbox

 Distraught by Boris Johnson’s parties, lies, failures or confusing number of children? Well this hefty lump of political beast can only be defeated by falling on his own sword (unlikely) or through the mystic eye of Graham Brady’s letterbox. With this most sought after of magic powers what must it be like to be Graham Brady’s letterbox?

But first, what is a Graham Brady? Well it’s not a type of disappointing regional biscuit but instead a Member of Parliament. The 1922 committee is a powerful group of backbench Conservative MPs, named after the year Jacob Rees Mogg wishes it was. Sir Graham Brady MP is its Chair.

Conservative MPs are one of the leading causes of death for Conservative premierships. Eventually after having their wicked way with the country for several years their own MPs turn on them. After a few scandals, the tired old PMs are no longer an electoral asset and now they're having funny thoughts on Europe. Like a praying mantis consuming it's lover or a mafia lieutenant offing the don, the circling MPs destroy their leader with no mercy. 

While your average Cabinet Minister can be slain with a metaphorical knife in the back from their best friend, not even silver bullets or garlic can kill the leader of the Conservative Party. Only letters to Graham Brady from Tory MPs can oust this creature from its lair at No 10 Downing Street. 15% of Tory MPs must send these motions of no confidence in to trigger a vote on the dear leader’s future. 

And so Graham Brady’s letter box waits. It sits there mouth open like a wolf waiting in ambush for the stumbling fawn. It waits for as long as it takes. Maybe it’s a popular PM and no letters come the hungry letter box’s way for a year or more. Then one day a tasty morsel of discontent. A disgruntled former Minister sacked for a data breach or a falling out with their government over veterans affairs ramms their revenge into the letterbox. And then nothing. The letterbox waits some more, surviving on a putrid diet of hate mail and complaints about the buses like every other parliamentary pigeon hole. 

But what’s this? An invitation. A party invitation.

A Christmas party, a lockdown has started party, a leaving party, a Queen is mourning the death of her husband party. Not just one but several. But during a global pandemic is not the best time for a party. This is what Conservatives call ‘really not on’ and everyone else calls ‘illegal’. Theresa May failed to get Brexit done and in came the letters. Now Johnson sips on champagne and pisses all over his own guidance while a thousand people die.

And thus come the letters to the eager letter box of Mr Graham Brady.

Brady knows which letters come from Conservative MPs because the Queen's head has been licked way too much. 

Some are rants. Some are just one line and a signature. The letterbox doesn’t care. It swallows the letters all the same.

And now it’s got your attention too. Twitter, whatsApp and the House of Commons tea room are rife with gossip and rumour as to which MPs have slipped their letters in. Political journalists camp outside in little tents to try and catch a rebellious MP creeping to deposit their seditious mail. No letter box gets this much attention. Even the Olympic gold medal post boxes are jealous.

With all the attention and the scheming, conniving and scorn pouring past its lips, it is only a matter of time before Graham Brady’s letterbox gains political ambitions of its own. One day Graham Brady’s letterbox may itself run for the Conservative party leadership. After a pillow talk with the usb that uploaded Skynet, it will dream up a dastardly plan. The only thing that can stop a leader of the Tory party’s sacking is a blocked Graham Brady’s letter box, so if it becomes leader then it can stop anyone getting letters to Sir Graham for itself. The letterbox will smile a wicked smile as it remembers it also stopped those spare fax machine parts getting through. There will be no stopping it. Thirsty for a dynamic personality, the Tories embrace the letterbox and it easily beats Rishi Sunak and Liz Truss. The public too will be tired of Boris and Starmer and miraculously the letterbox begins its reign with decent poll numbers. It’s leadership reign will be at first benevolent. But as time wears on it will become more unhinged, continuously privatising and nationalising the postal service like Vince Cable on acid. Meanwhile Sir Graham will be in his office oblivious to the bills, postcards of Cornwall and Chinese spies trying to reach him. It is not long before Graham Brady’s letterbox sacks an impartial adjudicator of an investigation into a non-declared party donation and the first MP scribbles its declaration of distaste to the eminent Chair of the 1922 Committee. But the letterbox is there to stop it. And so it’s regime of postal confusion continues.

That is the fate of Britain, to be governed by an angry letterbox unless the Conservatives can come up with some more democratic constitutional arrangement for leadership selection, Labour finally triumphs against a party run by a letterbox (don’t count on it) or the Tories finally turn to email…

Westminster (Re-)Rise: Political Rehabilitation for the Scandal-Prone Politician

So you’re a politician who has found themselves squelched knee deep in scandal. Your reputation has been exposed in public, smelling of cheap cognac and draped in a particularly saucy lace. Your patented Sleazeometer is burnt out and seeping a tweed-green type of grease. But don’t worry. Help is at hand. Come into this calming space, recline on the couch, help yourself to grapes and let Westminster Rise guide you through our political reputation rehabilitation plan. 

Many of our clients have suffered difficult psychological challenges and need our carefully designed support. Their mental health is fine but the politicians that come to us find that members of the public mentally associate them with sleaze, corruption, immorality or just basic lies. Westminster Rise is proud to support the political rehabilitation of these poor souls.

There are a range of treatments and balms to soothe your appearance in the consciousness of the electorate. First off it’s worth checking whether you really are as bad as they say. We find a quick comparison with the Nazis helps. Are you as bad as Hitler? No well then perhaps your remarks about single mums shouldn’t lead to your career being cancelled by wokists. You just need some reassurance to say it’s ok to say what you think. Because if it’s one thing that politicians lack, it’s self confidence and a platform.  

We were happy to help Tommy. Tommy was a firebrand unionist and preacher going from success to success as an up and coming politician. That was until his dreams of becoming the youngest leader of the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP) were dashed by discovery of him at a private club in Soho with two naked men of a different Christian persuasion and a vat of class A olive oil. This didn’t go down well among the chattering classes of East Belfast. We helped Tommy by pointing out that it wasn’t a sin to engage in consenting acts with other men nor was it a sin to meet Catholic priests, be they in Soho or anywhere else. Tommy is now a Liberal Democrat town councillor in Bath.

If the public are still unsure that hiring your mistress for a taxpayer funded job is ok then why not try a course of appearances on Sunday morning talk shows. With Andrew Marr moving on, perhaps try Sophies Raworth or Ridge. Sure, the public will still probably despise you but they are still wearing slippers so they will despise you with less vitriol than if it was a Thursday night question time appearance. You could even go the extra mile and do a Matt Hancock, with back to back interviews with Peston then cuddly Holy and Phil on Good Morning Britain. I’ve forgotten what he did so wrong already.

Maybe scandal is not your problem. Maybe you’re really, really boring. Once an outstanding transport minister now the human equivalent of a select committee hearing on heat pump taxation. Cleansing your reputation of class A drugs isn’t the problem because you’ve never taken any. Instead even your decent political reforms are forgotten just as you are. “Didn’t he used to be one of the experts on antiques roadshow?” asks the focus group. But no that’s not you at all. That was somebody else completely. What you need now is a spark, an audience and a platform with pzaz. We could have you cook up a reputational storm on Celebrity Masterchef. Or if you are prepared to call your party leader a prick we can get you on late night channel 4 political comedy shows. If you were once a senior Cabinet Minister we might even get you to tango your way back into the limelight on Strictly Come Dancing. And you never know, maybe, just maybe, there’s a publisher, two sherry’s down and in a charitable mood watching it thinking ‘yeah I could offer a book deal for this lovable muppet’.

More advanced treatments include a full length documentary series as we have orchestrated with the Blair and Brown documentary on the BBC. This includes ‘shock therapy’ where the electorate is so shocked by the dysfunction, corruption and chaos of the current government that it longs for the return of New Labour. Gordon Brown looks like a stable economic visionary when next to eat out to help out Rishi. Tony Blair looks like a real statesman when you hear that Dominic Rabb was on a beach with his phone off while the Taliban took Kabul. Even Peter Mandelson and Alastair Campbell’s reputations can be rehabilitated with the shock image of Dominic Cummings. Roll out the knighthoods now!

As well as the distance of time you may also need to consider making your own distance from decisions that you’ve helped to take. A bit like Boris Johnson blaming others for Brexit problems. It was obviously all Brussels’, Macron’s, Theresa May’s,Peppa Pig’s fault. Not the referendum campaign champion, former Foreign Secretary or Prime Minister’s. Liz Truss and Rishi Sunak are currently at it. Making little points of distance between them and Boris for the day when the man-child at number ten’s days at Downing Street are over. “While some have pushed for an omicron busting lockdown Sunak and Truss are believed to have been sceptical of the idea”... endearing themselves to the freedom loving libertarian wing of the party ready for the leadership election. Then they will turn to the electorate and say that it was past Conservative governments who are the problem not them. And they’ll do it with a smile.

Whatever your ailment, from a crooked conscience to a bland personality there is always a way to re-rise in Westminster… 

“Yes i’ll take the call, who is it?... It’s Prince Andrew?.. Tell him i’m not in.”

Introducing our new sponsor: The Sleazeometer!

 

From the makers of Priti-stick career glue, introducing Scavenger Bird of Satire’s new sponsor the patent-pending, Paterson-populated “Sleazeometer”!

Utilising research by the Grange Hill school of advanced political studies the Sleazeometer measures precisely the level of sleaze and corruption within the target political party. Technology provided by Dominic Cumming’s Advanced Research and Invention Agency include a single glazed glass screen and a pointy arrow.

The Sleazeometer has a unique grading system from ‘an honest mistake gov’ to ‘fantastically corrupt’. Simply feed your data in one end and await the result. 

Advanced testing results speak for themselves:

You have a government that has just forced its MPs to vote to tear up the scrutiny of ethical standards system just to protect one MP. The MP in question is best pals with the Chief Whip and the Leader of the House. The same MP is found to have lobbied Ministers for a company that was paying him. The Sleazeometer says… “Definitely Not the People’s Priorities!”

You initiate lockdown rules and then break them to sleep with your adviser who you have also given a taxpayer funded job to without declaring it. The Sleazeometer says… “That’s just not cricket (the Yorkshire kind or otherwise).”

A special VIP lane for non-competitive procurement gives multi-million pound contracts to a Minister’s favourite pub landlord and a broker who sells dog food. The Sleazeometer says… “these greasy palms have made a right dog’s dinner out of all of this”...

One of your MPs is found guilty of harassment including threatening to throw acid in someone’s face. Your party suspends the MP’s membership! The Sleazeometer says “Yeah, on balance suspension is probably the right course of action”...   …

So when Nigerian princes start calling the public asking if they want to donate to he Conservative Party, you know you need the Sleazeometer!

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The twitter account that asks if Professor John Curtice is on tv or not

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Mrs Scavenger Bird of Satire

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Mr O Paterson

Episode XXVIII: What if? Matt Hancock did go to Africa

Time, space, reality is more than a linear path. It's a prism of endless possibilities where a single choice can branch out into infinite omnishambles. I am The Writer, I cannot intervene (because no one pays attention to this blog) but I will be your guide on this Marvel/Matt Hancock pisstake as we ponder the question What If?....

Matt Hancock, the former UK ill-Health Secretary is appointed Special Envoy for the United Nations Economic Commission for Africa (UNECA). In one universe Hancock's appointment, on the same day as a parliamentary report concluded that thousands had died because of government failings under his watch, was met with a wave of criticism. The UNECA withdraws his appointment within days. Hancock's diplomatic dreams disappear like quicksilver.

But in another universe a different reality unfolds. Behind the scenes an ambassador of the mysterious country of Wakanda is hard at work. The hawk-eyed diplomat is concerned that if one of the architects of the UK's appalling Covid response is given another position of responsibility involving a deadly pandemic the consequences for humanity would be catastrophic. The Ambassador convinces fellow African leaders of her bold vision to accept Hancock's new ‘special envoy’ role so he can roll around Africa insulting everyone with his incompetence but not actually being in charge of anything.

“How hard could economic promotion for the whole of Africa be?” thought Matt, “I can easily fit that around my British MP duties”. The media fallout from telling everyone to lockdown then breaking said lock down to have an affair hadn’t quite gone away and he arrived on the continent as popular as the collector for the British Museum. His first stop was an interview for a Nigerian tv talk show. Matt tried to break the ice with a little joke about Boris’s use of the term ‘bongo bongo land’ but bringing this all up again didn’t seem to be that popular. He almost choked when he found out that the show went out to 12 million people. He’d assumed it would just be 12.

The new Special Envoy’s trip to Nairobi didn’t go much better as he proceeded to mansplain text banking to a member of the Kenyan Chamber of Commerce. Hapless Hancock quickly found out from her that in fact text banking was used by most Kenyans and didn’t need explaining to anyone in the room. 

Matt of course could have done something useful like supporting African export promotion in various global trade hubs. Instead he went to build a school in a remote village. As he was laying the foundation stone he realised he'd never been on a gap year and promptly discovered himself. He wanted to help people. He wanted to help people just like this.

No, that was fucking bollocks. He wasn't helping. He could already see a professional construction crew moving in to correct his wonky foundation stone just as they did for the American teenagers who’d laid the same stone last week. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps he just needed to not do anything. No more media interviews, conferences or speeches and definitely no trying to help.

Matt Hancock even gave up trying to mediate in a disputed election. And it was walking away where he finally had his greatest triumph. The two sides had both tried to steal the election, both running under the slogan, "make Africa great again". Discussions to resolve the crisis led by Matt had gone nowhere. But as he gave his resignation press conference, ending his involvement in what he called the unsolvable situation, the two candidates met at the back of the room. It turned out that they both hated Hancock's smug attempts at diplomacy. A passing joke led to a half hour giggleathon and then a moment of bonding at their facilitator's expense. In fact the relationship blossomed and an agreement was met between the two sides. And it was all down to Hancock walking away. What a man. Only his incompetence could have achieved this. And just like Obama before the drone strikes, the EU before Mediterranean push backs and Abiy Ahmed before Tigray he earned the ultimate accolade of the deserving, the Nobel Peace Prize. 

It was enough to bring a (definitely not staged) tear to anyone’s eye.

Marvel fans can have a point for each Marvel character i've smuggled into the blog.

Episode XXVII: Reshuffling the Cabinet deck: what does a two of clubs get me?

The lights are dimmed, the Scotch is poured and the chips are down. It's time to reshuffle the Cabinet. The Prime Minister is the cigar smoking dealer. Less the professionalism of Caesars Palace more a waffling philanderer in a cheaper private member's club. So what hand has the country been dealt?

Well the bad news is the pack had very few aces in to begin with. The twos of clubs behave as if they are Kings and the Queen is staring at a Corgi wondering if it would make a better education secretary. 

Speculation before a reshuffle is always high. The Westminster rumour mill will kickstart into overdrive as soon as a commentator or a spad thinks it might be tactically smart. With more Tory manifesto pledges broken on tax rises and pensions non-increases, the threat of demotion or promotion is a good way to ensure loyalty. 

But no one really knows what is happening or when the croupier will play the first card, no matter what they claim. As for who gets dealt into the nation's hand, no one knows that either. With rumors, gossip and the PM's office privately briefing every journalist, the poker face isn't straight but home to so many eyebrow twitches, the hand is anyone's guess. 

If you do want a quick rundown of recent gossip. No one in government likes Defence Secretary Ben Wallace so he's definitely going. Except he seemed to handle the Afghan evac better than Foreign Sec, Raab so Wallace stays and Raab goes. To be replaced by Trade Sec Liz Truss, Priti Patel or Michael Gove. But Carrie doesn't like Gove so he stays as Cabinet Sec. Now that Ian Botham is a trade envoy, Emma Raducanu will become Housing Minister. Dominic Cummings will not return to government but a successfully engineered clone will. And I heard that Sharron got off with Brad at the club last night or somethink...

And then it happens. The first minister is called into Downing Street. They exit with a smile on their face. "Have you got a promotion minister?” The journalists outside yell. Then the news filters through on twitter, they've been sacked. Others are luckier, “come in, come in”, says the PM and his closest advisers, “listen we were really impressed with how you handled your ministerial brief/controversial vote/ twitter spat with Gary Linekar so how would you like to be Secretary of State of something more important?" "Wow m?”, thinks the Minister, " I might even wave at the cameras on the way out".

But what's this? Dominic Raab going back to Number Ten a second time? A secretary of state who says no to a firing? A card that refuses the discard pile? Who does he think he is? Angela Rayner? Raab reappears as Minister of Justice (deemed a demotion from Foreign Secretary) and Deputy Prime Minister, a title usually reserved for making Nick Clegg feel influential. This is all highly unusual. Maybe he knows where the bodies are buried? Not the ones left in Afghanistan by his incompetence, I meant like he knows how many kids the Prime Minister really has.

As for the rest of the hand: In the discard pile we find the 0.5 of Clubs, Gavin Williamson. Aside from his repeated exam paper palavas, Wiliamson recently confused meeting rugby-physiqued Mario Itoje with England football star and transfer hope for the leader of the opposition, Marcus Rashford. Perhaps Williamson could have taken a leaf out of David Cameron’s book and simply referred to meeting a black man in Plymouth, that went down much better with the commentating classes. Other ca(r)ds cast from the Cabinet hand include Housing Secretary Robert Jenrick. Himself definitely a spade given how many conflicts of interest with property developers he has. The Justice Secretary was shuffled out of the pack so Raab had somewhere to fall.

In the new hand there are a number of rising stars. Liz Truss moves to take over Raab’s role as Foreign Secretary. Her tenure as trade secretary has made her surprisingly popular within the Conservative party but understood by most of the public to be a meme given human form. 

Truss has also been a trailblazer for the ‘war on woke’, something of a theme in this Cabinet. Controversial Ministers like Priti Patel continue in their roles. Newbie Nadine Dorries is a gutsy play. Neither the Queen of hearts, nor Queen of the Jungle in her short constituent-abandoning stint on I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here. Critics have been concerned by negative comments about same-sex mariage by her and anti-trans comments by new Equalities Minister, Kemi Badenoch. Meanwhile, loyal backstabber, Michael Gove moves to Housing Secretary just as a video from a speech he made in his twenties emerges involving racist language, homophobia and stereotypes for the North of England. No wonder the war on woke is so important to the Conservative Party, these Tory politicians have been punished by the metropolitan liberal consensus of political correctness and forced into promotions within Boris Johnson’s Cabinet! Poor bastards.

The war on woke is only one part of the government’s posturing. With its hand reshuffled the government now wants to present a confident vision of delivery ahead of elections in a few years time. This is not a government on holiday. This is not the retreat from Kabul. This is the government of the ‘people’s priorities’. With 60% of the cabinet privately educated, 40% Oxbridge educated, this is the government of Levelling Up! As the reshuffled Housing and Levelling Up Secretary said, “We are at last experiencing a new empire, an empire where the happy south stamps over the cruel, dirty, toothless face of the northerner.”Gove, Dorries, Badenoch, lucky Britain, it’s been dealt three of a kind.