Boris Johnson is house-hunting in the suburbs. According to The Sun, he’s got his eye on Dulwich Village, South London, where Mrs Thatcher moved when she was booted out of No 10.
A source told the newspaper: ‘Carrie and Boris are looking at somewhere they can put down roots away from the glare of central London.’
It won’t come cheap. The average price of a semi in the area is just shy of £2 million.
Still, given that Boris stands to make a mint from book deals and lecture fees that shouldn’t be a problem.
My knowledge of Dulwich is strictly limited. Not my manor, I’m afraid. I rarely venture that far south of the river.
As Dave, from the Winchester, once warned Arthur: ‘There’s a lot of very wicked people in South London.’
But from what I can gather, the Johnsons should be safe enough from the gangs and guns of Brixton.
Boris Johnson (pictured on holiday today) is house-hunting in the suburbs – he’s got his eye on Dulwich Village, South London
Dulwich seems to be something of a luvvie stronghold, a sort of Hampstead of the south. It’s even got a Labour MP.
Spiritually, it’s not that far from Westminster, less than five miles away. But it’s a step in the right direction.
It’s just a pity that Boris didn’t move further out sooner, or actually live in his Uxbridge and South Ruislip constituency, in West London. If he had, he might still be Prime Minister.
More politicians should heed the sound of the suburbs, instead of taking their policies and prejudices from within the metropolitan echo chamber.
Even Tory MPs who represent shire and suburban seats are in thrall to the closed mindset of the Westminster/media Bubble.
Boris owed his political career to the suburbs. When he was twice elected London mayor, it was down to the support of voters in the outer boroughs, not inner-city Islington and Camden.
His first victory was greeted by the BBC and bien pensant commentators as some kind of X-rated horror movie.
The headline on this column read: ‘They came from beyond the North Circular . . .’ Who were these alien creatures mad enough to vote Conservative?
In the closeted world of the Guardianistas, anyone living beyond the boundaries of London’s ring road must be a knuckle-scraping, cravat-and-blazer racist reactionary.
The Observer — aka the Guardian on Sunday — set out to investigate this terrifying phenomenon.
They were astonished to discover that far from being BNP fortresses, the outer suburbs were actually pretty diverse and peaceful.
They found Cypriots in Southgate, Sikhs in Southall and Hindus in Harrow, all co-existing in perfect harmony, like that old Coca-Cola commercial.
Removal trucks are seen outside No 10 Downing Street as Boris Johnson’s tenure comes to an end
One unbelievably patronising paragraph recorded: ‘Contrary to common stereotypes, the data suggests that many members of immigrant communities live in relatively prestigious neighbourhoods.’
Well, knock me dahn wiv a fevver, Clever Trevor.
And who created those ‘stereotypes’ in the first place? Those of us who actually live beyond the North Circular could have saved them the bother.
I’m fortunate to live in a relatively affluent North London suburb, alongside Jews, Muslims, Greeks, Turks, Indians and Pakistanis, people from every background.
We all rub along pretty well together. Most of us care about what unites us, not the artificial divisions constantly created by the self-regarding political class.
Semi-detached Suburban Mr Singh has much more in common with his next door neighbour Mr James than politicians would like to pretend.
Everyone wants decent transport, good schools, affordable homes, bobbies on the beat, you name it. Emptying the dustbins once a week would be a start.
British people of all ethnic backgrounds are demanding an end to unlimited illegal immigration, which is fuelling the housing shortage and overloading health and education.
Yet politicians of all stripes are unwilling or unable adequately to address any of these issues.
The obstructionist teaching unions appear to be in charge of the schools, the health service is a basket case, the police simply refuse to do the job we pay them for. T
he rail unions hold the country to ransom as fares go through the roof.
A so-called Conservative government has stepped up the deranged war on drivers trying merely to go about their lawful daily business.
The average price of a semi in the area of Dulwich, like the one above, is just shy of £2million
An obsession with enforcing ‘Net Zero’ has exacerbated the current energy crisis.
And meanwhile, Westminster keeps getting its knickers in a twist over whether a woman can have a penis.
We expect this kind of nonsense from the Left, but even Conservative MPs get caught up in it.
After being given a thumping majority by the Great British Public, Boris began behaving more like the Prime Minister of Islington than the duly elected member for the Tropic of Ruislip.
It’s no wonder that the suburbs, the shires and all those Red Wall voters who put their faith in him have been deserting in droves.
Never mind Dulwich, which is a bit too close both physically and politically to the Bubble. Maybe Boris should have moved to Durham.
Forget Whisky Galore, if Wee Burney gets her way it could soon be Whisky No More! Which sounds like a line from a Proclaimers song.
The climate change headbangers have got whisky production in their sights.
During maturation, about 2 per cent evaporates through the porous wood casks.
Apparently, it’s called the ‘Angel’s Share’ because it disappears into the heavens.
Both SNP and Green ministers are now convinced that this centuries-old process poses a serious threat to the ozone layer and have ordered a review of the harm caused by the industry via the emission of ‘non-methane volatile organic compounds’.
During maturation, about 2 per cent evaporates through the porous wood casks – apparently, it’s called the ‘Angel’s Share’ because it disappears into the heavens
You couldn’t make it up. The Net Zero nutters now want ‘mitigation strategies’ for controlling the leaks.
Not so long ago, it was the methane emissions from cows they were getting agitated about. Now it’s the non-methane stuff.
I wish they’d make up their minds.
Wee Burney and her Green goons want to make Jolly Jocko Land the Net Zero capital of the world, even if that means tilting at windmills — which already desecrate Scotland’s natural beauty.
Soon they’ll be slaughtering herds of Aberdeen Angus cattle and setting about Scotch distilleries like Eliot Ness’s gangbusters during Prohibition.
Better stock up on steak and single malt while you still can.
Burgers no more, whisky no more . . .
Motorists in Rhyl are frustrated by a car park ticket machine that only gives instructions in Welsh. These days I have so much trouble with cashless parking meters, they might just as well all be in Welsh. Or Swahili, come to that.
My 1980s Village People picture byline, featured here on Friday, gave plenty of readers a giggle.
I’ve since been compared to everyone from Peter Mandelson and Lord Lucan to Peter Sellers playing Fred Kite in I’m All Right, Jack. Some of you thought I looked like Boycie from Only Fools. Marlene!
Some of you thought I looked like Boycie from Only Fools. Marlene!
Others said I was the dead spit of Gorden Kaye, from ‘Allo ‘Allo.
Listen very carefully, I shall say zis only once: Just walk away, Ren…