It was whilst contemplating a particularly interesting bacon and egg baguette that The Huntsman had his week started on a particularly high note by the news that Boris Johnson has tossed his sunbeam-filled hat into the ring for the Tory nomination for election as the Mayor of “All London except the City of London”.

The mayoralty of London is a serious business, giving the incumbent direct hands-on political control over millions of people, more power than almost every Cabinet Minister and it requires a serious politician to compete for the post which the Red Reptile has sought to make his own. The Tories have been scrubbing round for ages for a suitably well-known candidate with name-recognition to do battle with the Slimy Axolotl, at one stage indulging themselves in a ludicrous exercise of trying to recruit Socialist Luvvie Greg Dyke to stand on a joint Tory/LidDem ticket, an idea that fortunately got the bullet in two shakes of a donkey’s tail.

We Rural Bystanders will, The Huntsman hopes, be deeply cheered by this news, which surely means that a corner of politics has just become fun again and that politics has become a worthy spectator sport once more.

The rest of politics is a much greyer place, encompassing as it does so many matters that are so deadly serious and so vital to the health of the British body politic. When our independence as a nation state, our personal freedoms as Britons, our personal economic well-being and the very nature of our society have become such life-and-death matters, politics has the grey hues of a wet winter morning in the trenches. And here comes Boris to bring, well, hatfuls of sunbeams to lighten our days.

Boris is a one-off, which is either a good thing or a bad thing in politics. In the Huntsman’s book, it is definitely a good thing. It may be that he occasionally offends people, but then The Huntsman’s philosophy is definitely in favour of offending people. If you have not the courage to offend people from time to time, you may as well give up. What a dreary and anodyne place it would be if we did not periodically offend people. Why there are reams of folk out there who are just crying out, nay begging to be offended! (All suggestions on the back of a beer mat please, real ale only!)

Portray him as a buffoon if you will. It is, The Huntsman is sure, an egregious error so to do, for beneath the Jolly Japes veneer lurks a very well educated man with excellent presentational skills as his TV programme on Rome showed. Anyone who has read, whether they agreed or not, his Telegraph column or his Spectator pieces will be under no illusion as to his intellect. Most attractively, he dares to say things that other, bleaker politicians lack the courage to say. Perhaps the people of Liverpool, Portsmouth and Papua New Guinea were offended by him. Some may think they are unduly sensitive little flowers who lack the courage to face truths about themselves. Whatever the truth of the matter, Boris belongs firmly to the ‘I’ll lob a grenade in here and see what happens’ school of debate of which The Huntsman has long been an adherent.

And what if he has been a bit of a bed-hopper? The Huntsman has never subscribed to the “flawless politician” school of politics which the Tories have saddled themselves with ever since the Jellyfish (that’s John Major to you) started his ‘Back to basics’ campaign. I do not suppose the average Londoner will think much of his affairs if they give any mind to it at all.

It may yet be a fearsome failure or a spectacular success, a giant Roman Candle that whizzes round and then expires in a glorious episode of bangs and colorful flashes, but either way it should be enormous fun, especially watching the Surly Socialists grub around in the mud for something to throw at him. It will surely be a large stroke of fluorescent marker on the grey page of national politics.

Boris should just be Boris, taking few prisoners as he goes, strewing sunbeams on his merry way, carrying even the most flinty-hearted of Londoners along on a tide of cheerful exuberance concerning London’s future.

And remember, the choice is now between on the one hand a grim, reptilian Stalinist whose ‘heroes’ are Castro, Guevara, Adams, Chavez and Marx; and on the other everyone’s favourite yellow labrador.

It ought, by rights, to be “no contest”. Go, Boris, Go!

Boris’s ‘I’m Going For it’ declaration is here

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