Three people, none of them the author, emerge from this book looking prophetic. One is her constituency agent in Norfolk. Told she is thinking about running for the Tory leadership, he tells Liz Truss it would be for the best if she lost. Another is her husband, Hugh. He faithfully backs the tilt at No 10, but predicts that her prime ministership will “all end in tears”. The third prescient person is the late queen, who concludes the formalities appointing Truss as prime minister with the warning: “Pace yourself.”
“Maybe I should have listened,” muses the author, one of the very few acknowledgments she offers to the reader that she might have got the odd thing wrong.
