The morning after...

The worst possible outcome for Remainers.

Boris has a 76 seat majority. Now let's watch Brexit happen. I'm getting my Irish Passport, so I can sit and watch from the sidelines, knowing that the economic changes will affect me and mine but also knowing I have an escape route if required: I'd held off until now, hoping against hope...

The EU can take the gloves off now. The GFA will be used to beat Boris around the head, especially if he tries to opt for a hard Brexit; but better that than the Boyos pick up the guns again. Unless Boris has a different opinion, of course; and he's in charge and all outcomes are now his responsibility.

I wish him good luck. "For whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."

So...

With Kenneth Widmerpool ensconced in Number 10 for at least the next five years it comes down to a question of upbringing, really; accepting the world as it is.

Apart from the ability with the old rumpy-pumpy, Boris is remarkably like Widmerpool. His leg-over hobby doesn't give him quite the same excuses for his behaviour, though. Widmerpool was a stunted, mean-spirited sort of cove with a damaged persona built on frustration. Boris ain't that being more than ordinarily priapic. But the vaunting ambition; the grasping at fame or notoriety, the need for applause...

All wonderful in a stage performer. Less good in a premier. Boris has left all of us thinking chaps as avatars of Nick Jenkins, which Anthony Powell used as his pseudonym.