Boris, final thoughts

If Boris was as well versed in The Classics as his not-so-humble bragging suggests, he would have been able to predict his inevitably sticky ending. People like this are never struck down by a single blow, instead death by a thousand cuts. It was sleaze that lead to his rise, and so it seems almost appropriate (a word not usually associated with our great leader) that sleaze should be his downfall. Sticky ends do after all, come most naturally to those of sticky origins (please see contact details if you’ve a weak spot for nice bums and sticky endings – I can be of assistance). But seriously, we all know someone like Boris. You’d trust him to bring a 6 pack of lukewarm beer to your BBQ – 90 minuites late and in yesterdays clothes, but what else would you trust him with? Your wife? Your child’s education? The tax money of an entire nation? Well of course if you’ve been contemplating divorce anyway you can always accelerate the process by introducing your significant other to Boris, but otherwise there can be no more conclusive evidence that we are a nation of masochists than the election of Boris as leader. We are a nation engaging in the mother of all toxic relationships with a man who couldn’t be trusted to manage his own household let alone your country.


It’s more nuanced than that of course, Boris = Bad, palpable dislike of Boris = Good is to simplistic a narrative. So try this one. We are all flawed (if you think you’re not flawed then being a narcissist is your flaw). The good news is flaws are what make people beautiful. The more endearing someone is, the more we feel they offer us, emotionally, spiritually, financially, whatever… the more likely we are to tolerate their flaws. And we understand that everybody tells lies. We have all been hypocrites. Sometimes we cut corners. Sometimes we turn a blind eye to behaviour we should call out. And so on. We tolerate these traits in other people because we tolerate them within ourselves. For this reason it can take a while to identify the person who is always a hypocrite. Always cutting corners. Always lying. We don’t go through life expecting everyone with a flaw to have fundamentally bad character. And because so many of us feel ashamed of our flaws or wish to change them – we perceive those whon “own” or even promote their flaws, to be somehow braver and more worthy of admiration than us.How could we ever trust anyone or function with a more pessimistic mindset? By the time you’ve elected a Boris, the journey climbing down from your position of support is a painful one. This is a human relationship. Unconditionally, we rely on our political leaders to do right by us (a moments pause here for the hilarity of Boris becoming the nations father figure). Admitting that you, I, the nation have made a fundamental mistake is so hard to do that (as I did at the beginning) you start to make excuses for behaviours you know to be objectively wrong. You come up with all kinds of theories like “It’s a double bluff. The person who appears beyond all reasonable doubt to be a fool, is actually a genius who’s hiding it very well”. You ignore all historical standards whilst concocting another theory that “Because he’s better than the other guy he’s good”. Or perhaps you adopt the most ridiculous but philosophically pure option “Yes I know about all that, but I like him so it doesn’t matter”. In the end “I like him so it doesn’t matter” became the mainstream line of support. You wouldn’t hire a bad surgeon because he was likeable, you wouldn’t hire an awful hairdresser because she made you laugh, yet despite us allegedly being more intelligent than ever, political tides have moved to populism. Never before has it been so easy to win: the electorate now judge what people say rather than what they do (a recurring theme in wider society where mere words, mere verbal missteps can render an entire life of tangible good deeds “cancelled”). Who cares what Boris has to say? He doesn’t write those speeches himself anyway. Why has it taken so long to start caring about what he’s actually been doing? Have we really become so bed wettingly naïve that a frisson of excitement may be obtained by mere “words of affirmation” from anyone with a plummy accent?

Therapy should come free on the NHS.



Almost time for that long awaited Boris Johnson resignation negroni. This one will be particularly delicious

How to: Win at Wimbledon

It’s a ladies prerogative to Win at Wimbledon. This outcome is easily achievable with my simple guide:


  1. Secure Court 1 tickets from a stranger at Scotts.
  2. The evening before Youtube “Rules of Tennis” in order to know when to clap, when to gasp, and what “Deuce” means (You can’t have them thinking you’re uncultured).
  3. Arrive well dressed and fashionably late. (READ. Well dressed: an elegant summer dress that swishes as you walk up stairs, a shoe you’ll still be able to walk in 8 hours later, an arresting smile, sunglasses that can and should be lowered to make eye contact with absolutely anyone who might be able to get you into Centre Court)
  4. Procure Champagne immediately. Full sized bottles of course. Half sized bottles are for children and the weak.
  5.  Enjoy your first Court 1 game, basking in the warm glory of finally being at Wimbledon. Clap and gasp when appropriate.
  6. Leave court one and attempt to cadge your way into Centre Court. Feminine charms, bribes, crying and theft are all acceptable currencies.
  7. More Champagne. Another full bottle. Bottles of Champagne are like lovers – they should never be counted.
  8. End up Live on a well known American sports channel for little more than being an attractive black woman in a nice dress sipping Champagne at Wimbledon.
  9. Now fuelled by alcohol and an inflated ego, make a second attempt for Centre Court (feminine charms – amazingly – don’t work. They use Firefighters as stewards as they know the type of people who would run into a burning building to save a life cannot be corrupted). Instead, find an entrance where the steward is either missing or talking to someone and simply walk (okay, run) in. Secure two seats as close to the court as you dare. Immediately befriend the kind, Guardian reading couple in the next seats in the hope they might defend you, should the true owner of these seats show up.
  10. Enjoy watching Nadal win on centre court, all for the price of an Uber Exec and a little audacity.
  11. Ordering a third bottle of Champagne would be scandalous, but in a way, so would not ordering a third bottle of champagne. How else to celebrate your Centre Court debut.
  12. Utilise a break in play to scout for even better seats, and maneuverer your way to the family and friends seats at the front (luckily Coco is playing, making this somewhat plausible).
  13. Crawl out of your first ever Wimbledon at 9ish and head home. In your evening prayers, remember to thank that stranger at Scotts, the distracted steward, and Lanson Champagne, for conspiring to make a fabulous day out.

Exclusive Update

Up early for a quick video call to a high profile client who’s going through a hard time and can’t get away for in person meets.
Not the sharpest tool in the box it has to be said, but I persist in hopes of nom-dom tax status which he says he’ll give me if I show a bit more nipple.

South Africa

Mission: Mountain climbing, Safari, Fine dining, Helicopter exploits, miscellaneous other adventures.

Status: Complete.

Kruger in Rain

More a collection of poetic thoughts I jotted down whilst being driven through Kruger. This particular day was rainy, and a lot of vultures were in trees above – favouring the dead trees. In the heavy rain found myself drawn to the most destructive forces of weather and animal behaviours. I’m currently reading Les Mis and am at the part where Valjean is shortly about to attempt escape from the convent in a coffin. I think this part of the book has influenced the religious imagery that has featured in my recent poems. I’m not religious – but I think particularly in the wilderness you get a sense of magnitude that is usually reserved for religious iconography.Will work this into a poem when I get the time. Most poems I write come from the first stanza (or 2) that come to me fully formed and I build around those to complete it.


Kruger in Rain.

Vultures perch onBaron treesWindswept and wicked:Dangerous fruitOthersDive to death and playThat haunting hammer:Beak on boneThe Beast will take its shareOf deathThe Bird will scavengeWhat is leftThe Bush will salvageBones bereft:A noble feastDescends to theftBlack leaves rot on riverbanksLike gangrenous lobesAll from dust:To dust returns.BF.

The Forest (First Draft)

*This isn’t really a poem, more a few ideas I jotted down whilst running through the forest*


The Forest.A leaf spirals down like a single confettiCongratulating the earth on all she has yielded
This be the birth of a season
Dead trees pose and posture likeSpidersSome fall into each otherAnd stay thereForever likeDrunken soul matesOld daffodils shrivel to barely a memoryFerns unfold and wave their lossTrees so high they touch GodAnd have beenTouched by GodLeaves the colour of wineForm a majestic chandelierThat casts a carpet of dancing foliageCrushed underfoot asBirds sing overear


–  BF

Feelgood News

Thought I would share some positive moments:


(Left) A one eyed old cat that disappeared for 5 years, finally found (living in a prison 😂) and returned to owner.

(Right) Closer to home, my lovely cleaner finally reunited with her mother and daughter who had to flee Ukraine on foot.


Your Monday Morning reminder that good things do happen!

B xx

London – Bray – Copenhagen – Heckfield

Enjoyed 10 Michelin Stars in 1 week(!) Heston Blumenthals “Fat Duck”, Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester, Alchemist in Copenhagen, and 1 Green Michelin Star at my favourite country hotel. And some shopping because naked people have little to no influence on society 😋 I’ve also started reading “Putin’s People” a fascinating book recommended to me a while ago. Whilst I was away I’ve been trying to keep up with my fitness regime (although I think in some ways it’s best to just submit to these tasting menus and enjoy them for what they are). Still, I loved running through the woods at Heckfield, and it put me in a great headspace for writing and ideas. Wordsworth was right when he said “Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.” I love being outdoors and in nature, so with my makeup off an my wellies on, it was a nice escape from the pomp and pace of London – I could have stayed there forever! It may surprise you that my eventual plan is to live in the countryside in a house with a lot of land, a 3 car garage (even though I can’t drive 😂) and a kitchen with a Sub Zero fridge (owning a Sub Zero fridge is the second fastest way to woo me 😂😂, the fastest way to woo me is to have a bottle of cold Champagne in said fridge and if you’ve had the foresight to put the champagne glasses in the freezer I’ll be moving in tomorrow 😂). In Denmark, I also tried working out in a High Altitude room for the first time. Phew! A really exhilarating workout – I wish this was available in London.


Many moons ago a gentleman took me to Copenhagen. We were both very into dining and a lady on the flight recommended we try a new, kooky 10 seat restaurant called alchemist. We enjoyed an avant-garde 100 course tasting, cooked by an unknown chef. A few years have passed and the chef has gone on to get huge investment, move to a warehouse space near NOMA, gain 2 Michelin stars, and create the most highly creative, ad best fine dining experience I have had. I remember who I was then and who I am now. And how the restaurant was then and how it is now. Experiencing the growth of this restaurant (and myself) was a moment of reflection for me. A lot can happen in a few years with hard work, persistence, self belief, and a little luck. **By the way – I do eat normal food too haha, but yes I am passionate about fine dining and creative restaurants.
I keep forgetting to update my availability, but safe to say my pre-Covid travel schedule has resumed. If you know me you know I want to visit almost everywhere, but Singapore, Japan, Maldives, Sardinia, and South Africa are high on my list. Also, a road trip through Italy that mostly involves food, sex, and little hotels run by old ladies named Antonella who insist on feeding me gnocchi at every opportunity. Also the South of France but not the places with everyone in their Gucci loafers banging on about a yacht. Which I guess means I don’t actually want to visit the South of France 😂. I wish they would open a private island for people who love luxury things but aren’t pretentious wankers.*
*If you are a Gucci loafer wearing pretentious wanker with a yacht in the South of France, my last comment was a JOKE, obviously. Please take me 😂
** Seriously, please 😂