The government is well rid of a foreign secretary whose grotesque colonial fantasies were an affront to the world
You can get away with an awful lot in British politics if you have “the right kind of background”. I’m not talking about anything so tawdry as qualifications – a single police numbers flub has haunted Diane Abbott for over a year, despite her years of frontbench experience and host of career achievements. I’m talking about pedigree: the sense of one’s descent from the venerable institutions of the British class system. And no one has embodied this tendency more than Boris Johnson.
The MP for Uxbridge and South Ruislip has always been something of a revenant. With his cultivated air of toffish buffoonery, he was a man out of time; in his grotesque incompetence in the role of foreign secretary, a man out of place. And, despite his flagrant disregard for cabinet collective responsibility and the constituency he was elected to serve, his frontbench career has had the ghoulish and unkillable quality of the undead.