Charles Moore: Hurrah!
Johnson: Enough, Charles. Can you get back to cleaning my sandals? Now, this Covid thingy. Bit embarrassing. When we told you all to stay home, save the NHS and save lives, we weren't really expecting you to do that. We thought you'd all be more like, well Etonians, really. Climbing the walls, going off to buy some coke, stealing matron's false leg*, that sort of stuff.
I mean, Neil Ferguson and I were frankly disappointed in you. After all, we knew the rules didn't apply to us. So why did you think they applied to you? That's not the spirit of the Blitz, when happy Cockneys danced in the streets of London Fields, defying Fritz to land one on them. No, if key advisers to the English and Scottish Governments were sneaking out for a quick bit of rumpy-pumpy or a weekend in their second homes, why would we think you'd do what you were told?
Frankly, I'm disappointed in you. The whole plan was for herd immunity, where the stupider members of the herd would indulge in a bit of self-culling while everyone else baked banana bread. And it turns out you're more intelligent than we thought. And we weren't expecting that after Brexit. So well done, at least, to the people of Grapenhall, Warrington. You showed those Scousers a thing or two on Friday about industrial warfare-scale stupidity.
So it's time for Phase 1b/c. This is where we move to a more nuanced message. So now we're categorizing risk into five risk levels, and three colours.
Hang on, shouldn't there be as many colours as risk levels? Cripes, it's confused even me. And I'm a Johnson so I know loads of things. Can someone get Ferguson? Oh. OK. Let's skip over the risks and colours. I'll get Dom to find a misfit to fix it, if he's not had to fire them all while I was ill, on holiday or "working from home". Let's get onto the new messaging.
You see what we've done? We've introduced new happier colours in a kind of bunting theme.Mixed in a much-loved bit of advertising gold from the 1970s. And we've boiled down three messages into two. Short, snappy, and the sort of thing anyone can use to guide their behaviour.
We thought it was a good idea to rename Covid19 as Colin. After all, Novel Coronavirus is knackering the sales of Mexican lager. And you common people will probably want to buy that for when you're having to barbecue your pets later in the summer. And Covid-19 sounds all techie and SciFi, like when Ferguson was telling us not to shake people's hands. So from now on, we're calling the virus Colin. Much friendlier message, I think.
And the other part of the messaging is really clear - watch out! In this part of the message, I'm to a large degree sampling the work of that other bloke who conquered death, but had fewer children than me. No, remind me later, Charles. You've the Wellington boots to do next. And what I'm saying is - watch out! Because if you catch a case of Colin, that's going to be your fault for not watching. Not mine for sorting out my personal affairs and getting the Cabinet to do silly chants about Brexit when I should have been working to keep you all safe.
And we're opening the garden centres! Now I know they're kind of catnip for old people. And this may be counter-productive if they don't remember to watch out for Colin. Especially when quite a few of them are called Colin. Or Stanley. But then papa has people that go to the garden centre for him. But anyway - dig for victory, everyone. Hurrah!
So Phase 2 a/b! Or whatever Dominic said! Whichever Dom it was. As Charles says when he's not cleaning my shoes, now is the time for every man and woman to get out there and die for the economy! Buy the Telegraph! It's more absorbent than the Sun! Watch out for Colins! It's time to renew your liaisons dangereuses! Hurrah!
Charles Moore: Hurrah!
Dominic Cummings: Time for my shoes now, Charles... The pop-out daggers need a clean.
* Thanks to Roy Clark
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