If each part of this diary column had its own headline, this one would be titled ‘Mayoroplane’. Back in 2008 in those halcyon days when Boris was a virgin mayor of London, he attracted his very own stalker. At every public event, or mayor’s questiontime, the same man would appear, muttering in a rather nasal tone. Boris could never quite make out what he was saying, but every utterance began with the words ‘when I was mayor’. Yes, it was Red Ken himself. Eventually Ken realised he was making a bit of a dick of embarrassing himself and decided to absent himself from encounters with Boris, presumably on the grounds he came across as a bit of a saddo.
So imagine the scene, the entire Johnson clan board their Easyjet flight heading for their summer holiday earlier this week. Finally Boris can relax and stop thinking about the speech he’s going to give to Uxbridge Conservatives in a few weeks. The only thought in his head is the fact that he’s forgotten to pack the Factor 42 suncream. He’s sat in his slightly too small seat – no business class on this flight to the sunshine, looking out the window, leaving Marina to sort out the children. And then… And then… he hears this slightly nasal tone shout out ‘Hello Boris!!!’. He turns round and standing in the aisle in the man who he vanquished twice, yes, it’s Ken Livingstone. It turns out they’re on the same flight, heading to the same Mediterranean island for some sun, sea and, er, probably Sangria. ‘Joy of joys,’ thinks Boris as he mutters some pleasantries before summoning the air steward and ordering a triple vodka. I made that bit up. But these rest is true. Talk about a small world…
I wonder if they are in the same hotel. It would make a great fly on the wall documentary. When Boris met Ken in Magaluf. Hardly bears thinking about.
In 1978 I did my ‘O’ Levels. I got three ‘B’s and 3 ‘C’s. I failed Biology with a ‘D’ and Physics with a ‘U’. Both my parents and I were delighted. Today I’d be considered a failure. Go figure.
Today’s my last day at work before a two week holiday starts. I do love my work but I am very much looking forward to some time to myself. Whether I will be able to completely switch off is a moot point. I have to finish compiling and editing our Guide to the Election and will still be writing this column. I’m spending the first week at our house in Norfolk, but on Monday week I am taking my father, my sisters and their families to Belgium for two days. No, don’t laugh. Recently I found out where the grave of our Great Uncle is. He was killed, at the age of 19, ten days before the end of the First World War. We’re going to pay our respects. A strange way to spend part of your summer holiday, but I’m immensely looking forward to it. I used to go across the channel by car every year, but haven’t been for nearly 20 years. One thing I’m keen to witness is the Last Post being played at the Menin Gate at Ypres, which they do every day at 8pm. I’m sure there won’t be a dry eye in the Dale clan.
