There was no grandeur to Boris Johnson as he stepped on stage at Olympic Park last night.
No strut, no swagger, no cocky air of triumphalism.
There were certainly no deranged yowls of ‘all right, all right’ like Neil Kinnock at that notorious Sheffield rally in 1992 when he wrongly assumed the election was in the bag.
Instead, all we got, as the PM appeared almost out of nowhere at the podium, was a self-effacing flap of the palms to calm everyone down. The polls, he said, were tight. Two coats of paint tight.
The general message of the evening: Let’s get on with finishing the job.
Instead, all we got, as the PM appeared almost out of nowhere at the podium, was a self-effacing flap of the palms to calm everyone down. The polls, he said, were tight. Two coats of paint tight
Critics like to caricature the Prime Minister as complacent with an arrogant right-to-rule, when nothing could be further from the truth. As a two-term mayor of London, a historically Labour city, he knows better than anyone how vital every vote is.
We were gathered in the Copper Box in Stratford, once venue to the London Olympics – a project, Boris hastily reminded us, he had helped deliver on time and on budget.
The audience wasn’t your usual sourdough Tory crowd – white, refined, well-heeled. This was a proper mixed-bag. Reaction? They loved every second of it.
What a breakneck final day of campaigning it had been. Frenetic, workman-like. Not without incident of course, but with Boris is there any other way?
People would feel short-changed if there wasn’t a pratfall at some point. It’d be like meeting Princess Margaret and discovering her on impeccably gracious form.
There were certainly no deranged yowls of ‘all right, all right’ like Neil Kinnock at that notorious Sheffield rally in 1992 when he wrongly assumed the election was in the bag
It kicked off with an early morning milk round in West Yorkshire when the PM pitched up at depot in Pudsey to help load delivery vans. The Tory majority round these parts? About as skinny as a Victoria’s Secret model after a lengthy stint on the cabbage soup diet. Judging by the way Boris was nervously lugging crates of blue top around, I’m not sure he’s milkie material. He looked more like a newly arrived prison inmate carting his bedclothes off to his cell for the first time.
Then just when all seemed to be going swimmingly – oops! Dawn drama. As Boris emerged from the depot, a journalist from ITV’s Good Morning Britain tried to nobble him for an interview. ‘Oh, for f***’s sake!’ yelled one of the Downing Street press officers, collaring the would-be ambusher in full view of the television cameras.
Back in the GMB studio, those delicate lambs Piers Morgan and Susanna Reid were feigning astonishment. Susanna even had her hand over her mouth. Oh, come off it! In Washington, secret service grunts would have had the reporter on the ground, giving him a full-square boot to the ribs. As for the swearing, I’m sure Piers screams far worse in the green room whenever the make-up dolly runs out of blusher.
Boris Johnson hid in a fridge earlier today to avoid GMB interview during his milk round after his minder blocked a reporter
Putting that early hiccup behind him, Boris continued on to the nearby home of Conservative voter Debbie Monaghan. The poor woman opened the door to a hundred different cameras going off while still in her jimmy-jams.
‘Ooh, I didn’t realised there were gonna be this many people,’ Debbie said, inadvertently letting slip this wasn’t exactly an unexpected visit. ‘I wish I’d put me make up on!’
Boris plonked a crate of groceries from the depot at her feet. ‘There’s some orange juice in there, chocolate milk…’ ‘Oooh chocolate milk!’ trilled Mrs M. ‘Yes,’ said Boris, ‘and we’re also going to put 20,000 more police on the streets, give billions more to the NHS…’
Yeah, yeah whatever. By now Debbie was more entranced by her goodies. ‘I hope that washing up liquid in there’s biodegradable,’ she tutted.
Then it was a quick dash to Derby for the PM to be photographed in a kitchen preparing a meat pie. It was ‘oven ready’ like his Brexit deal, geddit?
Then it was a quick dash to Derby for the PM to be photographed in a kitchen preparing a meat pie. It was ‘oven ready’ like his Brexit deal, geddit?
Some bright spark in Tory HQ had even thought to get him a pinny with ‘Get Brexit Done’ emblazoned across the front. ‘There, you saw how easy that is?’ Boris gestured as he removed a steaming dish from the oven.
Click click click. Get the shot? Happy? Right, onwards it was then to Newport in a twin-propeller private plane.
The PM’s destination was a factory that designs Christmas wrapping paper where he helped staff pack up boxes. Click, click, click. After that shift was done, he gamely helped them all pull a few Christmas crackers. Boris pulling a cracker? Ho, ho, ho. Those morning headlines were just writing themselves.
And so to London, for the Tory campaign’s closing number.
Warm-up duties fell to Michael Gove. The Govester had been slightly quiet this campaign but delivered a quadruple vodka Red Bull of a speech. A barnstormer, kicking it to Corbyn every which way. When Boris arrived, his eyes were baggy, his mouth beginning to droop a little, but no matter.
Plenty of time to sleep when this is all done. A nightmare… or sweet dreams? Today will tell.