Plot: The Political Assassination of Boris Johnson is Dorris' final volume. Photo: Getty
It promises to be the most explosive Thriller of the year about political revenge. Just in time for Rishi Sunak's first Conservative Party conference as prime minister in October, Nadine Dorris, a former culture secretary and ardent supporter of Boris Johnson, is due to publish a book about his Johnson's dramatic fall.
Objectively titled “The Plot: The Political Assassination of Boris Johnson,” the latest volume by best-selling author Dorris is billed as a story of “betrayal and deceit at the heart of the Westminster Machine.” . And she sells it diligently.
“I wanted to discover the forces behind the fall of the prime minister. Instead, I found a fault line within the Conservative Party going back decades and a history of deceit fueled by the darkest political arts,” Dorris said. “If you thought that power flows from the people to parliament, be prepared to think again.”
Tempting. If only we could see an exclusive early clip…
The Honorable Nadine Dorris MP (Somehow NOT the Baroness)
July 2022
“Nads, Nads, wait, I'm afraid it's a fait accompli,” he muttered in his office. I liked it when he spoke to me in Latin, and he knew it. What a wonderful linguist he is. But there was simply not enough time to analyze the charms of Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson. Will there ever be enough time? We're under attack right now.
“Powerful, sinister, inexplicable forces are at work here, Prime Minister. Really powerful powers. And they want to see your back… Then they want to stab it with a knife.” I told him straight out because that's the only way this working-class girl from Liverpool knows.
Boris's face is the perfect face, taut but loose, leonine but pug-like, the face that launched a thousand Shapps frowned. Normally, a look like that would break my defenses like a Red Wall, but I wasn't going to give up.
“You can beat them,” I purred, “just like you beat Covid, just like you will defeat the Remaining like you defeated Corbin… And I will be by your side.”
interrupted a third voice. “Actually, I’m here too. Boris and I looked at the hat rack, which seemed to speak. Boris felt for the panic button. I instinctively broke off a chair leg, wrapped it around the barbed wire that I always carry in my purse, and rolled up my sleeves. “Come out, coward, whoever you are.”
Suddenly, the hat stand cloned itself: from behind the original, another appeared. I screamed blue murder; Boris sighed. “Oh Jacob. Have we invited you? It was Rees-Mogg.
He briefed us on the situation. Simply put: the rest, the media, the civil service, the inkblot, Rishi Sunak, the boys who don't know the price of milk, and the people jealous of Boris' prolificacy and his winning charisma…everyone was out to get him. Partygate, Pincher, WhatsApps – they will do everything you need.
Boris was silent for a while. I knew that it was at such times that his genius was born; soon it will be fully erected. He ruffled his golden nest and chuckled with inspiration. He was wearing those jogging trunks that the waking metropolitan elite thought the Mafia-remnant police were insane, but in fact real Britons find them kindred. I grabbed the bookshelf, ready for it.
“Beware of the Ides of March…” he muttered, “people sometimes become masters of their own destinies. But in ourselves, that we are subordinates. But, as for me, for me it was Greek…”
I'm not ashamed to say that I cried. Such poetry. “When you can write like that, well, I don’t understand why William Shakespeare doesn’t write a book about you, but vice versa,” I said. Jacob and Boris exchanged looks that I understood, “That's a huge compliment from a best-selling author like Nadine.” But no words were needed.
My Hero: Nadine Dorris wrote about Boris Johnson
It was late. “Okay, I'm going to Bedfordshire,” I said.
– Ah, constituency work? Boris snapped back with the same Ken Dodd wit so appreciated and associated by kind people from the north like myself. How we laughed.
The next morning, vultures circled above us. Boris may be hurt, but I trained in nursing at Warrington General Hospital, and let me tell you, wounds can be healed. In issue 10 on TV, snake after snake chattered that Boris needed to go.
Craven, many of them. They would rather go on television than serve the voters who elected them. I thought it was a good idea, so I sent a text message to my new producer on TalkTV.
I needed to see him, but he was with Dilin, who spends too much time, if you like. ask me. I waited in his office and spun around in his wheelchair, breathing in his musk, just hoping some of his magic would dissipate. “I wish I knew how to leave you,” I sighed into the empty room.
“Oh, you too, Nads, everyone else is quitting!” the voice replied. Here it is: TM Lewin lightweight work shirt with half-turned collar; gray school socks; and a trainer-brogue hybrid that showed he was a visionary thinker. He shone as only red-blooded males can. He has never looked so much like his character, played by Brad Pitt in Troy.
He stepped towards me, this 5ft 9in towering over my chair. Can a person die from redness? If they can, Boris must be a serial killer. At that moment, he placed a fleshy, inspiring paw on my shoulder. It was the same hand that did Brexit so I winced because what woman wouldn't do it under such iron fists?
Nads, maybe this is it. Bust. Caput. The conductor is ready. But you were always there for me,” he muttered Churchillian.
He was sweating, just like he was sweating for a nation, working day in and day out during the greatest crisis that nation faced. since World War II. However, a few relaxing drinks after work were enough to cancel it, apparently.
“Nads, I want to reward your loyalty by doing what you've always wanted to do…”
< p>I couldn't believe it. “Boris,” I said stuttering, “you've just remarried, you're going to be a father sometime… How did you know how I feel…?”
“I mean giving you the title peer, Nadine. Baroness Dorris, wherever you are! How does that sound?”
Baroness Dorris. He was right, as always: it sounded good. Little did I know that the same sinister forces that toppled our greatest prime minister would destroy that dream as well. The plot, as we writers say, has thickened.
Recent Comments