A few weeks ago I wrote about the three stages that result in the fall of a Prime Minister. Anger, ridicule and Pity. I should have added humiliation. The real tragedy of yesterday’s slow motion, white knuckled ride to imminent political oblivion is that none of it was Madame’s fault. It was if the Gods atop Mount Olympus decided to play a few games. It was not her fault that she had a rotten cough, nor that some twat in charge of vetting didn’t, well, vet. Nor that some bellend in charge of scenery hadn’t appreciated that as lettering tends to fall off under heat and strong light you need apply a really strong adhesive. My heart went out to her. It was deeply, deeply uncomfortable viewing. How life can be so cruel. Politics so unforgiving. This will be her footnote in history.
She will, for the time being, get the sympathy vote. But this is only temporary. The two Gavins and Graham Brady, the real power brokers, will be strategising a smooth transition. But to whom? And how? And how do they prevent the party going into meltdown when the freak circus of leadership hopefuls comes to town? And how do they avoid an election and ushering in the most dangerously left wing government that this country has ever seen?
People have been asking for the last few days what the Conservative party is for. I’ll tell you. Winning elections. It has always had an adapt or die ethos. And unless it does the former it will suffer the latter. Sensible party elders have got to knock some sense into the selectorate. Brexit is here. It won’t go away, but it has to be managed. For the benefit of the country. If they pick a leader who is an obsessive, if they refuse to pick a leader because of some strange self destructive cult, then the party is finished. Already the delusionists are at play. Loathesome, Patel and a group of clowns are plotting. There may be resignations. Mercifully Boris has been sidelined. He will never be forgiven for his treachery. And Moggy? A splendid diversion. He has given the party wonder. Like when you see a bear riding a unicycle. The novelty will wear off. Anyhow, this is really his bid for the Speakership.
The party has to be detoxified. Those under the age of forty need to be energised. Have something to cheer. Have someone to believe in. Have a leader they believe can win. They have to be young. They have to be fresh. They have to be a total break from the past and present. Just a future.
The Tories have always been the Ruth less party. And they are. Davidson is our only hope. But it can’t be done, some say. Oh, yes it can. Now I’ll tell you how.
There has to be a secret cabal of the power brokers and May. She knows that every day she remains the chances of a sensible Brexit deal diminishes with the government, like some out of control dodgem car, smashing into everything, with Labour looking like a credible alternative. Davidson must be persuaded to stand in a by election. But where? She is desperately needed in Scotland, so a safe English seat would be unwise. She could be accused of desertion. But David Mundell’s seat, with a majority of 9,400, is the safest Tory seat in Scotland. Shove him in the Lords, but with a place at the power broker’s table. Make Davidson Secretary of State for Scotland. And then, after an election machine has been put in place, May steps down.
Yes,I know, it’s bloody risky. The SNP and Labour would mount a massive campaign in the by election. But the Scots love her. Having her as Prime Minister can only help Scotland. She is a force of nature. Charismatic. A breath of fresh air. Untainted by obsessionism. A bruiser. The only person who can win a term for the Tories. If May secretly agrees to this that may be her alternative footnote in history. Saving the Conservative Party.
