Kant. Hegel. Wittgenstein. And now Grant Shapps. The latest addition to the western philosopher kings. Amazingly, we now have to accept that Michael Green, Sebastian Fox, or whatever the transport secretary is calling himself these days, is what passes for an intellectual giant in this government. The go-to man whenever the prime minister is in trouble. The Ponzi scheme genius who can spin gossamer lies into a greater truth. Or perhaps not.
Nothing much rattles Shapps. There again, he has humiliated himself so frequently in his career that taking on Boris Johnson’s own humiliation is of little concern to him. Rather it’s a badge of honour. There is no indefensible position he won’t defend. When the Convict needs a fall guy who is a step up from the catatonic Nadine Dorries, the Shappster is proud to make himself available. A martyr to the cause.
So it was Call Me Grant who was sent out to tour the studios on the morning media round to answer questions about the photos that seemed to prove Johnson had lied to parliament and the country. It was here that we began to see the full weight of Shapps’s philosophical talents. Because it turned out that a party was not always a party. The finest mind of this generation of halfwits kindly went on to explain why.
It was like this. The Convict was just dead unlucky. Every time he happened to walk into another room, he would find people drinking and playing loud music. And he could never resist pulling a bottle of prosecco out of…
