It’s what many of you ask me the most, and the question I feel most ashamed to answer.
Partly because I don’t have proof of what I am about to tell you. But also because I was once the one banging on about how blooming marvelous he was and why he was lined up to be my fourth husband (or was it fifth?).
Not only did I announce this publicly, but the last time I saw him in person I actually reminded him personally that he was destined to be Mr Hopkins. (No, that was not fear in his eyes; he had indigestion. Probably.)
If you are reading this, Boris Johnson, please know that the offer of my hand in marriage has been rescinded. You have been nothing but a huge disappointment and, as populist leaders go, are about as much use as a potato in a wig.
I did try to answer the "What the hell happened?" question six months ago, though looking back-- excerpt, rest at link above --
"I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.
"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."