Gus Carter Gus Carter

The dreary truth about partygate

They weren’t even having fun

(Andrew Parsons/No. 10)

I’m starting to get a bit annoyed about partygate. Well no, that’s a lie. I’m angry in theory. On paper I’m fuming. In real life? Meh. This whole saga has trundled on for so long now I’ve just stopped caring. I’m probably annoyed about something else. Train timetables or maybe the fact that broccoli is £1.60 in M&S.

Given how miserable the rest of us were during lockdown, those making the rules should really have done the polite thing and followed them. But then when you read the details of ‘partygate’, you can’t help but think that they weren’t really enjoying themselves. A Colin the Caterpillar cake in between meetings? ‘Wine time Fridays’? Who wants to be cooped up in the office with their colleagues on a Friday evening? Didn’t they have any other friends they could sneak off and see at the end of the week? It’s what the rest of us did.

The real travesty – the real scandal – is just how sad the whole thing looks

The real travesty – the real scandal – is just how sad the whole thing looks. Yesterday the Mirror released a pic of all the drinks on offer at one of these ‘events’. (Anyone who still insists on calling these ‘parties’ should really look it up). There, at the centre of the table, among the Krispy Kreme doughnuts and tubs of long-life flapjacks, is a bottle of Barefoot yellow label. Barefoot. The drink of penniless students and struggling middle-class alcoholics. The kind of drink you settle for, hiccoughing and confused, during an early morning corner shop raid. In other words, the drink of desperation.

If my government is going to be corrupt, I at least want them to do it in style.

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