The Secretary of State for Education. On legs. Incarnate. In shorts. With headphones – and jogging towards me in the environs of West London. What could he be listening to? John Dryden’s Greatest Hits? Is he an hallucination? No. He’s quite real – and getting closer.
Shall I trip him up? With a red card tackle? That wouldn’t be very mature. It would play badly with Middle England. “Lefty Pensioner Mugs Noble Minister”.
I’d be just another “enemy of promise”, a member of what he calls “The Blob”. Shouldn’t I just grow up and hail the fellow and engage him in a temperate, Socratic dialogue about things epistemological? Synthetic Phonics? Like Boswell and Johnson?
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