From: julianlzb87@gmail.com   
      
   I don’t know if you’ve ever heard the phrase ‘French flu’ but it was   
   coined in the 1950s by an Eastern European intellectual who found   
   sanctuary from Soviet tanks in London and then became incredulous at the   
   way English brain-boxes ceaselessly put down their own country in   
   comparison with France. As with many Left-wing men today who somehow   
   seem to end up on the side of woman-haters from transies to Isis, you   
   might almost believe that it was because of, rather than despite, these   
   groups misogyny that right-on-Johns had such a soft spot for them   
   because of, as I wrote in the Spectator: ‘Suppressed feelings of   
   resentment towards the march of feminism which they could never in a   
   million years admit to. After years of being yelled at by female   
   comrades whenever they inquired about the likelihood of a hot beverage   
   being imminent, imagine how excited they must get watching big bad men   
   in balaclavas selling ‘slave girls’ in a sweltering marketplace…’   
      
   Once you’ve ticked the box saying Brotherhood of Man, you can do what   
   you want to women and girls from behind our old friend the Wokescreen,   
   as every liberal lecher from Harvey ‘I’m A Feminist’ Weinstein to a good   
   part of the United Nations (who seem unable to see a national disaster   
   without sending a crack team of sexual exploiters in, leading to around   
   2,000 allegations against them in a decade, the organisation itself   
   acknowledging that ‘peacekeepers have come to be seen as part of the   
   problem in trafficking rather than the solution’) has proven. Who cares   
   that Frenchwomen didn’t get the vote until 1945 or that until 1975 the   
   French Penal (sic!) Code permitted a husband murdering his wife and/or   
   her lover while catching them doing the deed to escape with the lightest   
   of sentences? So long as a porcine politician can roll around with some   
   fancy piece between 'Cinq à sept’ they’ll still get the wink from the   
   hypocritical Great and The Good over here - even if they smoke indoors   
   afterwards.   
      
   But let Boris Johnson get married a few times (three times to be precise   
   - the same as Jeremy Corbyn and me) and the hitherto sophisticates are   
   bleating ‘O, but what about poor Marina?’ and falling down on our   
   fainting couches. I know that we were all meant to be tut-tutting about   
   how Carrie Symonds violated the gormless Girl Code while kindly   
   bystanders waft smelling salts under our fragile noses, but in my   
   opinion all’s fair in love and war. And, of course, Boris’s ex-wife   
   Marina Wheeler was banging him while he was still married to his first   
   wife, Allegra. What goes around comes around, especially on the sexual   
   carousel of the metropolitan elite.   
      
   Additionally, it’s extremely babyish to bleat 'Ooo, if he'd lie to his   
   wife, he'd lie to the world!' If he was successful in lying to his wife,   
   he might also be good at lying to our international rivals, thus giving   
   the country he is paid to serve an advantage. It’s such a prissy,   
   reductive view of life; faithful husbands often make rotten leaders -   
   Nixon, Cameron - while bounders can be great ones - Lloyd George,   
   Kennedy. Once in a while you get a great leader who’s also faithful -   
   Churchill - but that’s probably because he was too depressed to be   
   interested in sex. You might as well say doctors who commit adultery   
   can't be trusted not to muck about with their patients.   
      
   In the past, it was only when politicians talked about *family values*   
   (which always makes me think of a budget-conscious supermarket) while   
   banging one of their cabinet that the charge of hypocrisy could be   
   brought. But with the Covid came a new kind of duplicity which made the   
   clinches of Major and Currie look like kid stuff. The photograph of the   
   full-on teenage snog which the minister and his miss were engaged in was   
   taken when even a manly hug outside of one’s ‘bubble’ was banned, let   
   alone what we used to call Wandering Hands Syndrome.   
      
   So in the end, it was right that Hancock should leave to spend more time   
   with his divorce lawyers, and not just because he had condemned the   
   extra-curricular activities of priapic prof Niall Ferguson so prissily   
   last year. For it was he who oversaw measures which meant that beloved   
   parents died alone care homes, un-held whilst he put his hands all over   
   an employee, and he who preached abstinence - backed by the force of law   
   - whilst doing exactly as he pleased. Laughter - our national pastime -   
   would have seen Hancock off in the end, even if his name wasn’t already   
   in on the joke. Even the driest parliamentary commentator might have   
   stumbled over references to Big Ben, the Woolsack, Black Rod’s Entrance   
   Garden, Honorable Members, Statutory Instruments, Whips/Whipping and   
   being In Session had such a flagrant adulterer been left in such a   
   position of power.   
      
   It’s good that faulty politicians should be driven out by the mockery of   
   the masses - not by the pearl-clutching of the liberal establishment,   
   who would have found nothing amiss whatsoever had he been French. What   
   brought him down was one of humanity’s finer instincts - love and   
   protectiveness towards the old and frail, whereas in the animal kingdom   
   we’d let them die and eat them - and not the peevish envy which is   
   piqued by the thought that someone, somewhere, is having more sex than us.   
      
      
   https://julieburchill.substack.com/   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)