Good riddance to Boris Johnson

Imagine.

Soon.

No more Johnson. No more smirking, spluttering, and spaffing from our insincere, insouciant supremo. No more bumbling Bunterisms in high office. No more untucked shirts and unruly mops. No more quips from the Greek. No more Greek full stop. No more deception. No more exapátisi. No more “genius”. No more “world king”. No more inverted pyramids of populist piffle from de Pfeffel.

No more Stanley too, one hopes. No more Rachel, perhaps. No more overrepresentation from the country’s least representative family. No more Carrie, the least-best Deputy Prime Minister we’ve never had. No more indeterminate numbers of progeny, so they remain like a theorem by Fermat as one of Nature’s last unsolved riddles. No more avoiding talking about things we should be talking about. No more “private life doesn’t matter”. No more “we knew what he was like”. No more failures of character. No more pastiche over personality. No more hyper-awareness from a Wooster-lite understanding the implausibility of his situation. No more self-conscious grins. No more nods and winks for a game well played. No more inability to take matters seriously.

No more from the member for Uxbridge and South Ruislip, the member for unctuous and crude shtick. No more scandals reported or suppressed. No more parties. No more unpublishable stories. No more euphemisms for “BoJobs”. No more alternative uses for government desks. No more lies. No more lies about lies. No more lies about no more lies. No more false statistics and outright denials. No more mockery of serious politics. No more “Captain Hindsight” and other unparliamentary language that a Speaker animated by Aardman is too slow to condemn. No more disdain for Parliament by an egocentric executive. No more attempts to reduce everything to a joke.

No more trolley-talk from Dominic Cummings (a real, in-your-pocket saving of £10 a month). No more Benny Hill salutes. No more silly phrases. No more Peppa the Pig. No more patronising photo ops. No more luminous vests. No more hair nets and biscuit factory tours. No more prime ministers injecting meat into sausages. No more hammering nails. No more pouring cement. No more driving diggers through cardboard walls. No more rugby tackling schoolchildren. No more head-butting Germans in the nuts.

No more oven-ready deals. No more oven-ready meals delivered to the flat late at night. No more rich donors (we hope). No more fifth, sixth and tenth-rate chumps in the Cabinet. No more Dorries. No more Braverman. No more Patel. No more Mogg. NO MORE MOGG! No more law-breaking and policies meant to divide rather than unite. No more flights to Rwanda and wave machines in the Channel and no-hope bridges to everywhere. No more authoritarianism wrapped in a cuddly fist. No more jogging in his vest.

No more tales of £7000 rugs, £2000 wallpaper, and £500 tablecloths. No more meaningless headlines about “levelling up”. No more day trips to Blackpool. No more “One Nation Tories” pitching the North against the South, the South against the North. No more policy reboots. No more last chances. No more pretending that Johnson was ever a decent writer or a respected journalist. No more biographies of Churchill (we pray!) No more promises of a biography of Shakespeare. No more advances for books that don’t get written. No more lectures about hard work from the laziest man to occupy No 10.

No more dead cats and parading polling-day puppies. No more humiliation on the world stage. No more turning foreign wars into domestic politics. No more bro-love with Zelensky. No more bro-love with Lebedev. No more Bojo-love with [NAME REDACTED]. No more morally murky meetings on mysterious islands. No more links with Russia. No more parties. No more treehouses. No more shameful ennoblements.

No more bad examples being set at the top. No more treating those at the bottom as fools.

No more calling him just “Boris”.

No more of any of that and no more thinking that none of it mattered.

Follow the author on Twitter @DavidWaywell.