It’s all in the context, but obviously, we were taken by surprise.
We had no idea that Boris had lined himself up to tell ‘his own’ truth in front of 11 million people on prime time TV, and we had no idea that he was that fed up with us.
We had no idea that he had noticed ‘one of us’ sneak into the kitchen twice a day when no one was looking, throughout each long lockdown, to take digestive biscuits out of the medium sized biscuit tin in the larder. Now the whole world knows.
We had no idea that he had seen, or thought he had seen, the family fighting over a game of Scrabble, or that one of us (he didn’t mention which one) had once put their hand back in the bag when no one was looking, and swapped the unwanted ‘Q’ for a more desirable ‘E’.
We had no idea that he had noticed one of us, again un-named, treble dipping a spoon into some cold mushroom risotto in the fridge the day that Dominic Cummings drove to Barnard Castle. Or that that person then put that dirty spoon on the sideboard, and not into the dishwasher. Or that they wore the same socks three days running. Or that they were concurrently running two bottles of white wine in the fridge, one good and one cheap and cheerful, in the hope that they would get more of the decent one.
As to the incendiary accusation that he had definitely seen a copy of the Daily Mail in the house more than once, (when he added that he knew, but couldn’t say, who had actually bought it, as he had been with them at the Lodsworth Village shop at the time), we can only offer that we can’t remember everything we did, or bought, over the last year.
We have made what we hope is a conciliatory statement, to the effect that his sadness is our sadness, even if there are some variations in our respective recollection of things. Boris is, and always will be, a valued member of this family.
I think he was kind of surprised and empowered by this notion of there being two available truths to any one situation, and that nothing any longer has to be proved. From now on, he has learned, it is sufficient just to say something in a silky, reflective way. No need to name names. No need to quote exactly what was said. No need to provide context. Just let the master interviewer tease out of you what you want to get off your chest, and all will be well.
What do we now know? That we are probably a slightly dysfunctional family? But then we knew that before. That Boris is in the dog-house? Or would be, if we actually owned one. Possibly, the only beneficiary is the possessor of a $2.6 billion bank account, island homes in Hawaii and Antigua, and a nippy little $25 million private jet.
At least she’s still smiling.
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