Boris Johnson's clash with Dominic Cummings is a modern Hammer Horror film that makes for great viewing – Susan Morrison
Elections make me miss our old cat Sully, a magnificent Burmese boy. We adored him, even though he regularly peed all over the post.
He loved elections. He particularly enjoyed a Tory party leaflet hitting the doormat. He would produce an incredible amount of cat urine just to make sure that plea for our vote really did float.
The Tories are clearly unaware that Sully is no longer with us, because they have taken to hiding their election communications inside the marketing blurb for Farm Foods. What a shock I got as I perused the deal for frozen parsnips and out popped the face of a cheery wee Conservative candidate.
I assume the choice of advertising partner is made by the distribution service, since I can’t really see yer average Tory Party leader shopping at Farm Foods. No offence to what is an excellent retailer of frozen comestibles, but when was the last time you saw Boris Johnson popping in for a Luxury King Prawn Ring?
He might blunder in if he’s on the hunt for Dominic Cummings, who looks like the sort of being who sleeps in a minus 40-degree, frost-free environment. There’s the look of a Hammer Horror sidekick about Dom.
Not the main villain, good grief, no, that’s Peter Cushing, doing his pop-eyed, monster-building professor act. Just behind him, though, lurking in the shadows, is Igor.
Perhaps he’s fetching in one of those heavy-breathing, buxom maidens Hammer Productions so adored, or he’s taking out the professor's leftover bits of body for disposal. If anyone knows where Boris’s bits are buried, it’s Dominic Cummings. I’m guessing it's not down the back of the sofa.
Well, not a John Lewis sofa anyway, a furniture retailer I have always held in high regard and am deeply shocked that Mr Johnson should be so slighting of a company that regularly bangs out top-quality Christmas adverts.
They sell wallpaper, too, and for significantly less than the £850 a roll that Boris is apparently shelling out for his refurbishment. What on Earth is this wallpaper made of? Unicorn skins? Is it hand-stencilled by Banksy?
Is it colour changing? No? Then forget it. £850. I’ve bought cars for less.
Where’s that Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen when you need him? What a makeover TV show that would be.
Here’s Boris and Carrie. Boris gets a house rent-free with his job. His employer, the Taxpayer, lets them redecorate, but gives them a mere pittance. Can our intrepid decorators transform this wretched squalor for only £30,000? Tension-filled first episode, Carrie boots out Boris’s best pal, Dom! They need room for baby Wilf.
Mr Cummings is smarter than Mr Johnson, just like Igor was always smart enough to get out of Frankenstein's burning lab.
He’s the sort of man who records things. He’s like those irritating people who turn up to office parties and don’t take a drink but do have a camera, so they can record it for history, or government inquiries, all those embarrassing moments like, oh, I dunno, when the boss started bellowing about piling up bodies.
Dom keeps the evidence. Forget the makeover show, this modern Hammer Horror is going to be great. Dominic’s Revenge. Get the popcorn in.
Our black cat, Gertie, threw up on the Conservative leaflet. Sully taught her well.