Perhaps the nicest touch was the handwritten ordinal in the date; Oliver Dowden’s neatly typed, spaced and justified (in the layout sense) resignation letter to Boris Johnson had left a gap for him to insert “24th” next to June, as if he momentarily considered sitting on it for a few days while he saw how things panned out, but then decided to exfiltrate himself sharpish, and certainly before he had to go on breakfast telly. The culture secretary’s entire message – as befits a former PR man – was a nifty exercise in passive aggression and plausible deniability, hinging on the central assertion that “somebody must take responsibility” (but who? Whose responsibility could this mess possibly be?), paying tribute to those who “work so tirelessly” and “deserve better” (not you, you lazy wastrel), and pledging future loyalty (once you’ve slung your hook, mate). As Dear John letters go, it wasn’t so much “it’s not you, it’s me” as “it’s definitely you”.
