Frank
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Tony Blair had a better idea. That night at the River Café in Hammersmith his dinner companion was Mark Carney. Everyone's favourite Knight of the Garter suggested to everyone's favourite central banker that it was time for Carney to become Prime Minister of Canada. After Sir Tony had pulled out a map to remind him where it was, Mr Carney protested that he'd just moved his business interests to Bermuda and the Isle of Man. If you're wondering why a chap who has dedicated his life to "public service" is in need of tax havens, well, why not get a thirty-grand-a-year job as a bigshot newspaper reporter and ask him at the next press conference?
Carney required some persuading that night. It is reported that Blair perambulated his guest around the restaurant multiple times before Carney warmed up to the idea. But he had a vague recollection from the last time he was back "home" that Canadians already had a prime minister, didn't they? Indeed, said Tony. So the plan would only work if they could remove Justin very swiftly and surgically. We are deep into Macbeth here, if you can imagine Duncan played by an effete mammy-singer:
If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success...
And that's exactly what they did. 'Twere done very quickly: two months after that dinner, Chrystia Freeland quit as Trudeau's deputy, precipitating the final crisis of Justin's decade-long tenure. Another month later, he was surceased. A month after that, Carney was elected Liberal leader with eighty-six per cent of the vote. Which is pretty impressive for a guy who's been out of the country for twelve years, has never been elected to anything, and had minimal name recognition. I mean, how many Governors of the Bank of England, or of Canada, or of any central bank, can the average Canadian voter name?
Not to mention that he's incredibly arrogant and unlikeable.
Yet it was a brilliant plan, and they pulled it off, soup to nuts, in just four months. As the SAS motto has it, who dares wins. Pierre Poilievre didn't dare, and he didn't win. Instead, he spent three years munching his apple. An apple a day keeps the doctor away; an apple video every three years keeps the prime ministership away. He was by far the least worst Tory leader of the last decade, but in the end he was very much Pierre Pussievre: as the Christine Anderson episode demonstrated, he was merely the latest useless wanker loser tosspot, content to accept the left's framing on everything that matters. Peter Dutton Down Under is another. Get back to me after the weekend if you disagree. I'm so bored of so-called "far-right" "leaders" who are indistinguishable from their leftie opponents. Steyn
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