These could Boris Johnson still not see – or, at least, admit to – as the curtain begins to fall on his chaotic tenure as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.
Some would relegate Johnston to the role of court jester; one there to amuse, to charm, to garner favor and applause. Too lazy a conclusion, I would suggest, insinuating him to be but a minor performer – hovering in the wings, just the filler during drunken intervals. For, oh how well he used those intervals – to discombobulate, to prevaricate, to slyly maneuver himself to center stage. Good riddance I say.
And A.N. Wilson says it so much better in Oldie Magazine. As always, on those fabled Isles, Shakespeare is there to be turned to for just the right anecdote, just the right personage, to explain (away) the most inexplicable; like the petty frivolities and conceits of Westminster and its players. With Johnson it is as with Falstaff; where the comic ends and the tragic begins rests in the eye of the beholder, at the mercy of a fickle audience and electorate alike. So, let the curtain fall on this 21st century Falstaff. (A drink at the bar may be in order as one awaits, and with trepidation, the next act! Believe me – it ain’t promising!)