Sooner or later, someone is going to have to call a halt to Liz Truss's public appearances. Not for our benefit, but for hers. We've nearly reached the point where we've tipped over into the Theatre of Cruelty.
It would somehow feel less grubby if Liz was in on the joke. If she was aware that her residual value is as a washed up end of the pier entertainer. Someone long past her best, churning out her greatest hit.
Most striking of all, Liz actually means this. She believes the fate of the western world resides solely in her hands. She wakes up every morning and stares at a map of the globe and plots her next move.
For narcissistic endeavour she outdoes Boris. A genuine contender for the world's maddest person. Even Napoleon had less of a Napoleon complex. Where are her shrinks when she really needs them?
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