Calling him Boris, rather than using one of his other names  ─ Alexander, or de Pfeffel  ─ sounds a bit too much like an endearment.  In our house, we refer to him as Doris Odneri, this  being the scientific name of  a species of seaslug.

While he was in contention for the Tory leadership, some of those who knew him best,  gave us fair warning, describing him as a womaniser, liar and idler. He is not idle on the womanising side, having seven children (those being the ones he acknowledges publicly) by three different mothers.

At Oxford he was a member of the notorious rich-boys’ Bullingdon Club. They eat and drink fastidiously and copiously and then smash up the venu The Club and its capers were fictionalised in the Royal Court Theatre play POSH by Laura Wade.

The Tory-dominated coalition government, followed by  Tory governments under David Cameron and Theresa May and Johnson,  left the NHS, following a decade of stringent austerity, ill-prepared for the pandemic.

At the outbreak of Covid-19, Johnson was too slow in closing the borders and late in declaring the first lockdown. Those errors cost thousands of lives. The shortage PPE and other equipment gave Doris plentiful opportunity to hand out lucrative contracts to his cronies and his cronies’ cronies.  There has been corruption galore.

Now his ex-mate, Dominic Cummings (he’s the one who always looks like an unmade bed) is getting his own back for being summarily sacked by spilling the beans.  Doris gets £30,000 a year from the tax-payers, for the upkeep of his Downing Street flat.  Not enough to satisfy his live-in girlfriend and so they have just spent £58,000, or £200,000 (take your pick)  refurbishing it.   Theresa May must have left it in a terrible state. Was she keeping coal in the bath? Did she turn the sitting room into a pole-dancing studio? Had Doris, since moving in, spilt red wine on the settee? He’s good at that.

The British people, bloody idiots that they are, voted him into office and now they have to live with their decision.