At one point last night, Team Boris appeared to be dancing round in some sort of fairy ring. Then it become unmentionably apparent just what sort of ring it was! Truly, my friends, if I knew the sordid things I got up to at Eton would ever see the light of day, I would have strived to make them more theatrical. As it is, all this “playwright”, Mr Peacock, has to offer is a decomposing pile of innuendic protoplasm. Poor show. Literally.
In other news, Michael “the snake” Govey whipped up a storm last night, inspiring the people - well, Kyle, the “director” - with the passion of Brexit! On he struts, gospel-gowned, hands raised high, preaching the joys of Leave. It’s quite the act. You could almost believe he believed it. Just like I believed he was a decent fellow and not a venomous little toad.
Still, we live and learn. Except for Govey. Now I’ve got some powerful exotic friends at the Foreign Office, he might just find his tea comes with extra radiation. Milk, Govey? Sugar? How about polonium…?