Before The Party’s Over

And so we reach the end of an era. The last 14 years of sleaze, scandal and shamelessness have been great for Popbitch; less so for the country at large.

If the polls are anywhere close to being accurate, we might not get the chance to revisit the Tories’ weirder proclivities for quite a while. So we’re grabbing it.

With a new dawn likely about to break (again…) we’ll keep back the rest of pop culture’s gossip ’til next week – when business is back to usual.

But first, a two-fingered farewell to the outgoing government.

In PB1188, we asked:
“Which Tory MP once lured a parliamentary intern back to his house for (what turned out to be) an unexpected seduction attempt – with the promise of ‘din-dins south of the river’?”

We didn’t expect this to be a significant story at the time. But this same MP’s misbehaviour ended up being the first domino in the great Conservative downfall.

It was the cover-up of his sexual misconduct that caused mass resignations from Boris Johnson’s cabinet, cratering his power and forcing his ouster. That installed Liz Truss, who crashed the economy, killed the Queen and resigned within weeks. Which paved the way for Rishi Sunak, who has presided over what seems to be the death throes of the party, calling the election that might feasibly kill them off as a serious force in British politics for the foreseeable future.

So take a bow… Chris Pincher!

Getting your fashion choices roasted by @dieworkwear on Twitter is a political rite of passage these days. So GQ commissioned him this week to extend that final honour to Rishi on his way out. There’s a reason Rishi’s stuck with his dinky little suits though, despite all the piss-ripping.

Back in his days as Chancellor, one of his advisors actually insisted on taking him to a tailor to get some more traditional-styled suits cut. Something a little less City Boy, a little more Chancellor.

Traditional English tailoring generally favours a baggier fit. But when advisors saw Rishi in the ‘correct’ cut, they had to concede: a proper suit gave him a very distinctive “little boy on his first day of big school” look.

So the team unanimously decided to let him return to his tried-and-tested shrunk-sleeve aesthetic.

Liz Truss always put a lot of stock in the fact that she was “prepared to be unpopular” as Prime Minister. Luckily, she’d had a lot of practice.

Back when she was at Oxford (studying PPE at Merton) students got paired up for tutorials. However, Liz’s approach to these sessions was so eccentric – even back then – that by her second and third years, many of her fellow coursemates actively lobbied (/begged) their tutors not to be coupled with her.

For most of us, the memories of Dominic Raab are already starting to fade. But please spare a thought for one poor Popbitch reader who will never know such peace. She remains forever haunted by one specific memory from the time she hooked up with him at a wedding in the 90s.

The evening is somewhat hazy in her memory, but she remembers a few key things. She remembers him being kind enough to walk her back to the isolated family pub where she was staying, after she’d spent the whole night laughing at his politics. She remembers him waking up other guests when he started doing comedy schtick in an extra-loud ‘Tory Boy’ voice.

But the truly indelible memory she has is of him dancing around her tiny hotel room wearing nothing but a frilly shower cap.

Polls suggest Jacob Rees-Mogg is poised to lose his seat tonight, but Mogg is used to not getting to stay in his seat for too long.

Classmates who attended Eton with him had a prank they liked to play over the years – one they say never got boring. Someone would start singing or whistling the National Anthem whenever he was in earshot. Then watch as the young Jacob would – without fail – stop whatever he was doing to proudly stand for the duration of it.

There used to be an unofficial test that a certain branch of the Civil Service conducted to make sure its briefing documents were written clearly enough so that even ministers of limited intellect were able to grasp them by a third reading.

For a while this was known as the ‘Amber Rudd Test’. However, when Ms Rudd found herself promoted to the Home Office, those in the service felt it was maybe a little improper to name the test after someone who held one of the Great Offices Of State. So they changed it.

To the ‘Priti Patel Test’.

Who then ascended to the same role herself.

George Osborne’s wedding last summer was overshadowed by a particularly scandalous poison pen email that was sent out to all the guests just before the big day. Presumably George has much more fun as a wedding guest than as a groom.

At one nuptials just before he took office, he took part in a round of ‘Pass The Ice Cube’: a retro party game where players take it in turns to move an ice cube along a chain of people. Set out boy-girl-boy-girl, the ice cube moves by players placing their lips on those of the person next to them, then flobbing the ice out of their mouth into theirs.

The combination of spit, melty ice and numbness makes it all quite messy. But luckily George was stood next to a reasonably fun guest to share a slobbery ice-cold kiss with. Geri Halliwell.

Before he entered the world of politics, James Cleverly was a big-shot at Caspian Publishing, where he became the subject of an excellent anecdote among his former colleagues.

It happened one evening, when some of the team decamped to the pub for after-work drinks. Cleverly got chatting to a co-worker who jokingly asked him if he was trying to flirt with her. His gallant riposte?

“Trust me love, if I were flirting with you you’d be foaming at the gash right now.”

We could have filled an entire issue with Michael Gove stories. Like the time he was caught trying to dislodge a blocked turd from the toilet with his hoover. The swinging rumours. The weird Hamilton-style rap he wrote for Boris. His post-divorce raving in Aberdeen to the song “Big Booty Hoes (And Sluts Too)”.

But the one story we think we probably got yelled at the most for telling you…

Journalists who have had the misfortune of using the toilets at the same time as Michael Gove say that he is so proud of his own honourable member that he has a very particular urinal technique.

He unzips his fly an unnervingly long way away from the urinal. He takes something of a catwalk up to the trough with it fully out. He does his business – and then takes an unnecessarily long time to tuck it all back in, as he makes his way over to the sinks.

Headline Of The Election? “Gangs Of Feral Youths Rule Our Streets. Not Even Waitrose Is Safe.”
[Thank you, the Telegraph]

I will take the knee to vote against Keir Starmer
[Peter Hitchens, of course]

Nigel Farage Is The New Messiah
[GB News, high on its own supply]

You can’t even be middle class anymore, due to woke
[The Telegraph, again]

I would like to elect my dog
[Clarkson being Clarkson]

I would like someone to attack me with a milkshake
[Rod Liddle being Rod Liddle]

Keir Starmer wants to kill your kitten…
[Astonishingly, not a fake ad]

…and your puppy
[Nor this]

Postal Vote Delays Could Bar Kemi Badenoch from Tory Leadership Race
[Second story in yesterday’s Times]

Donald Trump Is The Real President Of The USA Right Now
[The Telegraph, truly winning this section]

Still Bored?
Keep track of tonight’s Portillo Moments
[Portillogeddon]