The three tenors of showman populism, Donald Trump, Boris Johnson and Silvio Berlusconi, reached the top through a combination of telegenic clownishness, “I alone can fix it” braggadocio and a shared strain of narcissistic nationalism – and now one faces the judgment of the courts, another has fled the judgment of his peers, while the third contemplates the judgment of the heavens.
In the week Berlusconi met his maker – doubtless with a wide, permatanned smile and an inquiry as to where one might find the most winsome angels, only to be directed towards the downward escalator – Trump and Johnson respectively contemplated a charge sheet and a verdict of the earthly variety. Both are stunning documents.
