California dreaming. Ever since he’d returned from holiday in Santa Monica Rishi Sunak had been overwhelmed with a sense of despair. A futility no number of sessions on his Peloton could erase. He was meant to be living his best life. The tech-bro turned prime minister. The man who fell to Earth to save the UK from Boris Johnson and Liz Truss. Where was the gratitude for all he had done? At best, the country was totally indifferent to his efforts. At worst it was hostile.
Now he was reduced to ever more meaningless photo ops with people bewildered to know why he was there. It wasn’t as if he had anything new to say. How much longer could he go on announcing things that were probably never going to happen? Even he was struggling to believe in himself. Even he could see he was at his best when he was doing nothing. The invisible man.
