I'm A Celeb is doing it wrong: it should be I'm Boris Johnson, Get Me In There!
Put yourself, for a moment, in Boris Johnson's shoes.
All right, they're clown shoes and, okay, they're both so deeply embedded in your mouth you can twiddle your toes in stomach acid. But aside from bipedal indigestion, how do you feel?
1. You're the poster boy for Brexit, which is going badly
2. Your attempt to tell the Prime Minister what to do on Brexit with notes passed in class has backfired spectacularly
3. There's a British citizen in Iran with possible breast cancer, stress alopecia and impending nervous breakdown who is facing an extra 5 years' jail because of your stupid flapping gums
4. Your mates have stopped calling you "Bozza" and started calling you "Bozo"
5. You painted over the bus but forgot to do the same to millions of people's memories
6. There is an ongoing hunt for the political scalps of the morally dubious
7. Your best mate in the Cabinet who you used to exchange text messages with in Latin so nobody else knew what you were saying was Michael Fallon, and he's gone to reform school
8. That Gove chappie says he's got your back, and that's also where your kidneys are
9. All that running and you're still no prettier
Boris could already be forgiven for not wanting to get out of bed this morning. After all, every one of those issues could only be improved if he were muffled by a duvet.
The man who believed he would be Tory leader virtually from the cradle, the darling of the grass roots, has splurged every bit of political capital he had first on Brexit, then a failed leadership bid, and finally on a 4,000-word article which made him look like the disloyal, two-faced, entitled prig that he is.
By the time he entered the joust on behalf of imprisoned British national Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe his personal credit was at zero. Now that he has been accused of making her problems worse, is being held personally responsible for them and will almost certainly be blamed if her condition deteriorates Boris is so deep in a political hole he could declare himself Prime Minister of the Earth's Core any day now.
And the cherry on top of this steaming shitcake is that someone very LIKE Boris has wangled three we eks in a well-paid rainforest a long way from Brexit, Iran, Gove, and any risk of a woman reminding people what you're like with women.
There isn't a bus for miles. What bliss.
Unfortunately for Boris the person like him who gets to enjoy this spa-for-the-widely-loathed is his dad Stanley, former banker, former unelected Eurocrat, former politician, and the genetic precursor of a family-wide habit of inserting the end of one's leg in one's own facial orifice.
Boris, who thinks he is very clever, may well think that by comparison we are all very stupid and will somehow confuse the Johnson on ITV with the Johnson in the FCO, and that our plebeian brains will not be able to pay attention to both at the same time.
Having met Stanley, who genuinely cannot be stopped from talking, a nd having observed over years how journalists have found him an invaluable tool to embarrass, enrage and embolden his first-born, it is far more likely that Johnson Sr will make Johnson Jr's problems even worse.
Let's just hope he doesn't mention sexual ethics, Iran, Brexit, leadership ambitions, childhood foxhunting, the Bullingdon Club, or his son's habit of making things up including quotes, excuses and reasons to leave the EU.
In short Boris' current predicament, morally, politically, domestically and internationally can be described as "a bit rocky", in the same way a lump of magma belched from a volcano can be described as "a bit warm".
In the past few weeks we've seen Cabinet ministers defenestrated for offences far more minor than giving Iran an excuse to hold an innocent captive; MPs retreat from public life for moral wrongs a long way from serial adultery and love children; and careers ended for much less serious reasons than the sort of screaming incompetence Boris regularly displays.
His every effort in politics, from writing fake news to offending the entire city of Liverpool and now embarking upon the stormy seas of international diplomacy like Jeremy Clarkson in a sticky-taped Lada, shows that he's not very good at it.
Despite this Boris has his fans, not for any political nous of which he displays none but for his entertainment value. Which is why the cast of no-hopers, has-beens and who-the-hells who've just flown out to the jungle are very much the B team in this winter's must-watch reality show.
Firstly, there's nothing some attention-seeking idiots can do in Queensland that will be any more grippingly awful than what this example of Narcissaurus Rex can do for the TV cameras in Whitehall.
S econdly, the chance of Boris going rogue, dressing up like Rambo and cannibalising himself are significantly higher under all this pressure at home than it would be if you pushed him out of a plane, deprived him of food and made him swat flies for 18 hours a day.
If the producers of I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here have any sense the pale facsimiles of unpleasantness who've just entered the Versace hotel are due to be replaced the moment they parachute into camp by the real Boris and every single one of his Government colleagues.
Then perhaps we could watch duplicitous toerags fight each other for a meaningless crown of twigs over the next three weeks without Brexit negotiations, economic stability or the nation's sanity actually relying on it.
Because I'll tell you this: if Boris and his ilk keep acting like this in Westminster, they're screwed and so are we.Source: Google News