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Message for Boris: I’m mostly off-radar right now, supporting a relative in the High Dependency Unit of my (brilliant) local hospital. He’s had a rough ride but is on the mend. And I know it’s very un-English and impolite to mix the personal..1./
...and the political. But I think we’re past that, don’t you? Because, watching the incredible staff here, and the patients, some of them recently-returned from the very border between life and death, and the fretful relatives, I’m reminded of a bus 2/
A bus that promised £350m extra per week for the NHS if we left the EU. Your bus. The £350m, it turned out, wasn’t even the right figure, but your campaign didn’t care. You were exploiting the deepest emotions of the voters, and you won 3/
And now, Mr Prime Minister-in-waiting: it’s payday. You owe that money, to these people. They don’t need optimism, or poundshop patriotic slogan, or chatshow shtick, or jokes about cocaine and icing sugar, or dog whistle attacks on Muslim women 4/
They need the money. The money you promised. They need delivery. The delivery you promised. They need more than jokes and confidence and fear of Corbyn. Comedy hour is over. It’s time for policies and competence and attention to detail 5/
So please believe me when I say that these people - and millions more like them - are going to be watching you, holding you to account, waiting for you to pay the bill. Sure, you’ll get a brief honeymoon period full of Churchilliian imagery and kitsch 6/
But it won’t last. Playtime will be over soon. No more froth and nonsense: Number Ten can be an awfully lonely place when you’re not up to scratch. All eyes on you, Boris. Greetings from all of us in the HDU. /ENDS
