Priti Patel apparently thought the chief aim of an international development minister was to give aid and succour to the Israeli Army, a bunch of mean hombres who have little requirement to tap the humanitarian budget of the UK for charitable donations.
Forgive me if I am mistaken, but I can’t recall tearful speeches to camera on Red Nose Day by members of the Israeli Army begging for donations to buy just 200 rounds of ammunition or a new set of tyre tracks for a tank.
Ms Patel wasn’t even doing the day job. She was taking in the sun, the sights and, apparently, face-to-face meetings with various senior Israeli officials, who, I am willing to bet, were weeping with laughter when she left because they’d be only too aware that Priti Vacant was stepping way out of line by promising to help the most successful army in the Middle East.
We’ve all come back from hols with some memories we’d like to forget, but not even I’ve woken up post-holiday to find a note stuffed in my pocket saying “Don’t forget the humanitarian aid for the army! Love Bibi Netanyahu xx”
So, she got to resign. Treeza didn’t even get a chance to fire her. I suspect she resigned rather than get fired so she could get a whip-round. No chance.
That leaving sheet must be getting pretty tattered by now. That’s two away in a week. I’ll bet there are some folk just sitting with rubber stamps in their desks with ‘Best Of Luck! Miss You!’ for the goodbye cards.
Treeza, the Sergeant Wilson of British politics, may soon find herself rattling and faffing about on her own like John le Mesurier’s greatest creation from Dad’s Army. She attended one of those expensive schools as well for a time.
I’m starting to revaluate my attitude to the “lions led by donkeys” idea.