Struggling Soft On Fiscal Crime Minister Boris Johnson has been advised to appear more human by his crack PR team. They have advised him to eat a bacon sandwich in public.
Crack PR team, in the sense of crack cocaine. Theresa May’s government’s slow slide into terminal Brexitaholism has been reflected in Johnson’s kamikaze plunge into No Deal addiction.
Recent gaffes have led the team to a frantic burst of panic. Three lost votes, losing his majority mid-speech, kicking out senior figures who dared to stand up to him, and talking wiff-waffy bollocks surrounded by riot police need to be countered somehow. Play to your strengths, they said. The easy, chummy manner. A clumsy joke and that winning simper. And for goodness’ sake, roll out the lovable buffoon act again.
Eat a bacon sandwich. Pretend you like that revolting red sauce they slather it with. Let some of it drip onto your shirt. Grin sheepishly. Clean up, saying “I love mopping up reds!”
What could possibly go wrong?
No, no, they say, nobody will take pictures of the incident and photoshop them into the Last Supper like they did with that Ed Miliband chap. They only do that to poshos pretending to be lefties.
All PR is good PR, they say, egging him on, especially when the chips are down. Ham it up, and bring home the bacon! Butter them up with a bit of sauce!
Eating greasy food is always guaranteed to generate a bit of press. Remember John Selwyn Gummer persuading his daughter to eat a mad cow burger? Or Theresa May’s chip butty? Yummy.
There is no rasher course for Johnson to take. But what has he got to lose? All his dignity and credibilty are long gone. Why not chomp on comfort food while enraging militant vegans?
Britain faces a simple and inescapable choice. A bacon sandwich with Boris Johnson, or a coalition of quinoa with Jeremy Corbyn?