Sketch: BoJo the clown delivers; but don’t believe London will sate his ambition

BORIS wandered on to the stage. The Symphony Hall at the convention centre had filled up ten minutes earlier, all the seats hunted down eagerly by the dutiful Tory hoards.

They had endured George. They had even applauded Justine Greening. Now was their reward. Half an hour with the Golden One.

Boris was suitably dishevelled, the bacon-scissor haircut in place, and tie not quite right. In the stalls sat David Cameron, his every inflection being scrutinised by a bevvy of photographers and cameramen. The Prime Minister, a rictus smile etched on his face, gave the impression that listening to a more popular, funnier Conservative politician than himself was his idea of a great morning’s entertainment.