We all know it’s a rite of passage in political engagement to have a spitting hatred for Boris Johnson. But believe it or not, you idiots out there (well, of the 38% of you that actually bothered to fucking vote), thought he’d be good for London. So, well done. Here’s a cheers to you electing the Upperclass Twit of The Year for 2012 to be our leader for the next four years. Four fucking years. Nice one.
So when the email came through for an opportunity to meet with the man himself for a breakfast press affair, it’s little wonder I pressed the enter key quicker than my own body knew possible.
I’ve never liked Boris. He’s a media candidate clown that makes even the shiniest of David Cameron posters feel as though they border on sane. The Mr Blobby to your Saturday morning kids show if you will. Surely I’m not the only one cringing every time his press team force him up on stage? It’s got to be a public humiliation thing, some reality TV shite that’ll air on some dodgy sky channel in a few months, and then, well, the jokes on us. Anyway, back to breakfast.
I get into the BT Tower, and decide that, it being 9:30 in the morning, I’d head straight for the bacon rolls. That was after all the idea of the invite, wasn’t it? Oh? What’s that you say? There’s a press conference too? Shit. I nab myself a seat and attempt to hide amongst the curtails of the British press.
Moments later a man working for BT, who goes by the name of Livingstone, gets up on stage to introduce Boris. Of course, hilarity ensues, because of the mayor thing and all that. Funny seeing businesses try irony isn’t it? Boris tumbles forward towards the stage, while the crowd of journalists and photographers chuckle in his wake.
“I’ve been walking around London for the last few months, some of you may know, talking to other people who are cheesed off for one reason or another”. Yep, nice start Boris, only one hilarious word thrown in, and a reference to the fact everyone in London doesn’t really want you as their Mayor. Cool Let’s continue..”In the words of the Popular Front of Judean people, ‘WHAT ARE THE OLYMPICS EVER DONE FOR ME?”. Well, at the minute, not much, apart from got me a free bacon sandwich. No complaints. “Did you know it’s still possible to get into the Olympics?” oh god..
“There’ll be 45 meter long zip wires, there will be zorbing, there’ll be a 55m tall observation tower, a have a go sports zone,” Whey. London’s saved from austerity repression at last. A zip wire is just what we need to make the Olympics truly go bang this year. It’s not like we’re paying him god knows how much a year to do nothing is it. Oh, we are? Fuck. Well that’s £150,000 down the drain. But still, maybe the zip wire will be our saviour? Who knows, maybe he’ll get on it and zip out of existence. Still, at least Boris understands what London needs. That’s if you think London needs something you’d find in dodgy corner of a Sainsbury’s car park to be truly Olympic. Alas.
“ABOVE ALL. YOU’LL BE ABLE TO WATCH THE WHOLE THING ON BT’S MASSIVE TV SCREENS”. That’s it Boris, you’ve sent me over the edge. A television? How good of you.
Long story short, Boris didn’t really do much other than bumble on about his real, promised, sincerity to London, after all, he’s got another 4 years of these corporate press launches. And even this one is enough to send me completely barmy. So, while I watch Boris take press interviews after the event, and as I toddle about getting my hands on the last few free teas and coffees, I find myself having an epiphany. Being Mayor’s a bit shit init. Par the paycheck, all that happens is you get twats like me shouting at ya’. And the fact Boris still finds some sense of hilarity to every situation is kind of admirable. It’s all this that’s killed Ken over the last 25 years, and that whole dead-behind-the-eyes emo look is so very 90’s. So, fair enough, Boris. Nice one. I’ll give you it to you, this time. Just promise me you’ll put on a hog roast. “I’ll make sure,” he says, answering what is probably the oddest interview question he’ll ever have to answer by a member of the press.
London is saved.