Enough was enough. Things had gone too far. Something had to be done. For the last three days the Covid inquiry had been like an out-of-control therapy session. The permanently trashed Party Marty. The foul-mouthed career sociopath Dominic Cummings. The caring, sharing Helen MacNamara. All competing with one another to expose the corruption and incompetence at the heart of Boris Johnson’s government during the Covid crisis. All desperate to pin the blame on someone other than themselves. All third-rate desperadoes in their tragicomic worlds.
This had to stop. Anyone who has worked in government for more than a few months knows that the whole purpose of a public inquiry is for the truth to remain buried. For the inquiry to conclude that it hadn’t really been able to conclude anything. Beyond a few bland, reassuring generalisations. So it was time to send in the professionals. Men for whom arse-covering is a life’s work. A noble profession. Men who would allow the waves to close over the gross dysfunction of government till there was barely a ripple left on the surface. The raison d’etre of any good apparatchik was that the chaos should neither be seen nor heard.
