Surely it can’t go on like this for the rest of the year. If it does, then we will all be driven mad by the end of it. Assuming we’re not already. Rishi Sunak has started 2024 as he means to go on. In full election mode. The prime minister is seemingly no longer interested in governing the country – it’s scarcely registered with him that half the country is flooded. Then again, if your primary mode of transport is a helicopter, I guess you don’t really notice. All that matters is scoring cheap points as he scrabbles around to think of reasons people might vote for him.
On Monday, the first day parliament was back after the Christmas recess, Sunak was in Accrington to deliver yet another of his PM Disconnects to a carefully curated audience of about 100 people who had been rounded up by Conservative head office. Even so, many of those in the hall soon began to wonder if they had been dragged out under false pretences.
Long before the 40-minute session had ended, people were staring at their phones, willing for any old email to distract them. Even spam would do. The applause was half-hearted at best, save from the chosen ones. The anointed apparatchiks. If this was a home crowd, it’s going to be a long year for the prime minister.
Rish! strode to the centre of the audience, gave an awkward hug to the local MP Sara Britcliffe and tried to engage the little people. To bestow upon them his blessings. No matter how hard he tries, he just doesn’t have the common touch. Incapable of not instinctively talking down to everyone. Condescension is his modus operandi. It’s the default setting for anyone who has come to believe in their own infallibility.
“I’m going to be straight with you,” Sunak said, exuding all the high-energy futility of a jacketless Ricky Gervais in The Office. A sure sign that he was about to start lying. As if on cue, he didn’t disappoint. He knew he had said that he was the change candidate and he wasn’t going to apologise for that. Because he was about to change into the continuity candidate. The guy you could trust to really screw things up. Why get in an amateur wrecking ball when you could have a professional?
It turned out that Rish! thought Rish! was a really amazing guy. A magician who made things happen. Who could create something out of nothing. Remember those five pledges – sorry, five thingummies – that he had made a year ago? Well, he had done some in-depth analysis on the back of an envelope and had concluded he had delivered on all five.
Debt. The economists might say it’s not going down, but Rish! had just paid off his Christmas credit card debt so it must be. Growth. We weren’t actually in recession, so if you just recalibrated the axes of the graph then we were living in boom times. Small boats. When you thought about it, stopping about half was the same as stopping all of them. Hospital waiting lists. Definitely falling if you turned the piece of paper the other way up. Inflation. It had been nothing to do with him when it had gone up and everything to do with him when it had fallen. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!
“You can’t trust Keir Starmer,” Rish! squeaked. “He’ll take us back to square one.” Let’s think this through. On the bright side – in Sunak’s wildest dreams – we were at square two. But really things feel a lot worse than they were. Not surprising, because they are. Every family is a lot worse off than they were in 2019. And in 2010 for that matter. It’s been 14 years of steady decline, punctuated by the amorality of Boris Johnson and the disastrous fantasies of Liz Truss.
So the most likely scenario is that we are at square minus four. Which means that someone who will return us to square one – a World that Time Forgot Before the Tories Got Their Hands On It – sounds like a decent bet. After all, what is the downside? There’s almost nothing left to completely fuck up. And that little guy in the white shirt promising to continue the Conservatives’ reign of terror is to be avoided at all costs. Something tells me this latest reset will go in to the same bin as all the others. Come in No 10, your time is up.
But Sunak was adamant that he was the man. He wasn’t afraid to take the difficult decisions, he insisted. That was why he had cancelled the northern leg of HS2. But not to worry. There would still be fast trains travelling to Manchester. They just wouldn’t be going any faster than the present ones. And would be subject to the same delays. You have to hand it to Rish!. He thinks of everything.
It does seem, though, that he is afraid of taking the difficult questions. Because after a few doozies from loyalists in the audience, Sunak only took three from largely non-hostile media outlets. And even those were far too barbed for him. What did he say to reports that during his failed leadership campaign he had wanted to trash the Rwanda scheme?
“I never said I was going to scrap it.” he blustered. Deliberately missing the point. No one had ever accused him of that. Then he went lamely for the Labour leader again. “He’s got no plans.” Try listening, Rish!. He’s got plenty. Some of us have heard them more times than we care to remember. It’s just they are different to yours. They might even work. But for Sunak, anyone who disagrees with him has committed a cardinal sin. They must be nullified.
Finally we got to Post Office Horizon. The one thing that is now on every politician’s mind since last week’s ITV drama. Though it was of little interest to many before that. I’ve sat through several urgent questions and statements on the scandal over the past 10 years and there’s never been more than 50 MPs in the chamber for any of them. So 600 MPs hadn’t given a toss. Including Sunak. I don’t recall him ever showing his face for one.
But now Rish! has been watching the telly – or more likely, the public mood – and concluded something needs to be done. Though he doesn’t seem sure what. Someone should remind him that he’s the prime minister and the buck stops with him. There again, why bother? It’s not for much longer.
John Crace’s book Depraved New World (Guardian Faber, £16.99) is out now. To support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy and save 18% at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply
