Chapters
Shownotes Transcript
Hello, just before we get started, just a public service announcement from British Scandal HQ. I don't know if you've noticed, but British politics is a bin fire at the moment. And I'll be honest, we can't keep up with the minute by minute earthquakes happening in government. So please forgive us if we sound like we recorded this before Liz Truss got the boot, because we kind of did. Just a warning before we begin this episode, it does contain strong language, Alice. I might not have heard some of these words before. I think I've heard you use all of them. Yeah.
Okay, Alice, so we've done something a little bit different in the way that we've chosen the story for this series. Can you guess what it is? Oh, okay. So usually we'd pick something that's really exciting, that we find engaging, that's maybe kind of revelatory in some way. What have you done this time? Well, you might be forgiven for thinking we've done something ultra-topical, which you kind of have by chance. But really, I've just been onto management about whether I can just tell stories that involve...
the impressions that I can do. Your big three? My big three. So it was either going to be Keir Starmer talking about the government and how they've been investigated by the Metropolitan Police. I mean, I would have loved that. Or it was going to be about Tony Blair, frankly. And not only the changes that were brought in at the time, but the effect of their legacy now. It was only a matter of time. Or it was going to be about Donald Trump. And now you're part of the fake news media. You are a bad dude.
But none of those made the cut? None of them, sadly, made the cut. But I want to be treated as a member for Beeston West on her powers of deduction. And frankly, this is the last chance I'm going to get to wheel out this impression. So here we are. Yes, it's my favourite. 6th of July, 2022. The Committee Room, Downing Street, London.
Boris Johnson strides into the room and glares at the seven cabinet ministers round the table. He bites down his anger, throws a heavy file on the desk, watches them flinch. "Seven of you? The magnificent seven? I take it I'm the bad guy in this scenario?" They all stare at the table, ashen-faced. Most of them fidget nervously. He leans back in his chair, takes in the heavy silence. He has to hear them out, but it's the last thing he wants.
Michelle Donnellan, the Education Minister, flicks back a strand of dark hair. Now, culture sec, of course, under trust. At the time of recording, yes. By the time this goes out, she could be Prime Minister. Prime Minister, we're all very grateful for the service you've done for the country, for taking us out of Europe, but now is the time he leans forward. I made you Education Minister yesterday, Michelle. At least Brutus put the bloody hours in before he stabbed Caesar. He watches her shrink back.
but he feels suffocated. He glances at one of his aides. "Come on, open a window!" He ruffles his blonde hair while the aide struggles with the lock. "It seems to be stuck, Prime Minister." "Just open the fucking thing!" The aide slinks into a corner. Michael Gove clears his throat and leans forward.
Prime Minister, nobody can deny your achievements during your time in office, but you have to face reality. You're no longer popular in the country, you've damaged your own reputation since you took office, and you've damaged the reputation of the party. It pains me to see this, but you have to resign, and you need to make your announcement by nine o'clock tonight. Boris leans back, glares at Gove, fights the urge to hurl the table at him.
Right, if I leave, this country will sink and not one of you has the stature to take my place. OK, he talks a lot of rubbish, but... He watches Priti Patel squeeze the bridge of her nose, then fold her hands on the desk. She's been one of his staunchest supporters for years. She helped run his campaign to get him elected as party leader in the first place. Prime Minister, none of us want this to be humiliating. Leave now and you can still maintain some dignity.
He stares at her, horrified, until she looks away. His throat feels tight. His heart pounds. He looks down at the desk. For the next few seconds, nobody speaks. Then he looks back at them all. Feels his rage rise again. "You're all forgetting one thing. I'm the leader who won you fuckers your seats. The public gave me, me, a colossal mandate to govern. Do you want to force another snap election?"
Everyone sits bolt upright. Gove looks horrified. An election? You can't do that. Boris glares at him, lets the threat hang in the air. This meeting's over. Fuck off. When they've gone, he puts his head in his hands, runs his fingers through his tousled hair. His whole life has been geared towards being Prime Minister. He's meant to be the next Churchill. Have statues of himself outside the Palace of Westminster. He looks around the empty room.
His cabinet and his MPs might be deserting him, but he's not going anywhere. He's going to do what he's done his whole life. He's going to fight to the bitter end. And he's going to win. My dad works in B2B marketing. He came by my school for career day and said he was a big ROAS man. Then he told everyone how much he loved calculating his return on ad spend.
My friend's still laughing at me to this day. Not everyone gets B2B, but with LinkedIn, you'll be able to reach people who do. Get $100 credit on your next ad campaign. Go to linkedin.com slash results to claim your credit. That's linkedin.com slash results. Terms and conditions apply. LinkedIn, the place to be, to be.
As summer winds down, let your imagination soar by listening on Audible. Whether you listen to stories, motivation, expert advice, any genre you love, you can be inspired to imagine new worlds, new possibilities, new ways of thinking. With Audible, there's more to imagine when you listen.
And speaking of listening, you can listen to the best-selling science fiction thriller Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir right now on the Audible app and traverse the galaxy in a desperate last-chance mission along with astronaut Ryland Grace, all from the comfort of your living room.
As an Audible member, you choose one title a month to keep from their entire catalogue. New members can try Audible free for 30 days. Visit audible.com slash WonderyPod or text WonderyPod to 500-500. That's audible.com slash WonderyPod or text WonderyPod to 500-500. From Wondery, I'm Alice Levine. And I'm Matt Ford. And this is British Scandal. ♪
The show where every week we bring you stories from this green and not always so pleasant land. British scandals come in many shapes and sizes. Some are about money, some are about sex. They're all about power. But when we look at scandals a little bit closer, they turn out to be stranger, wilder and just plain weirder than we remember. So we're journeying back to ask who's to blame for what happened. And when the dust settled, did anything really change? MUSIC
Alice, if you were to imagine the archetypal British scandal protagonist, what attributes would they have? On the bingo card. So elite background, dripping in privilege.
A philanderer, ideally. A huge ego, a liar, power hungry, just shameless. Yes, if the British scandal boffins were in Frankenstein's lab and they were creating a protagonist, it would have the head of Boris Johnson, the torso of Boris Johnson, the arms of Boris Johnson, the legs of Boris Johnson, the other bit of Boris Johnson. So are you telling me that we're doing a series on boffins?
on Boris. Yes, which is a novelty for us because we don't usually cover things so contemporary. But he's such a big character. He is the most outrageous prime minister we've ever had. He is the most famous prime minister we've ever had, arguably the most infamous as well. You could say the most scandalous prime minister we've ever had. I mean, where on earth do we start? I mean, this is the problem. Think of any part of his life, any period of his life. And there are just lies and law breaking and all sorts of things.
He broke the laws that he brought in during lockdown, the illegal parties at Downing Street. He got a fixed penalty notice. The only prime minister in history to have received a fixed penalty notice inside Number 10. It's incredible. And on top of that, of course, it wouldn't be British scandal if there wasn't a whole load of sex as well. And we're going to cover it all. We are going deep into the character of Boris Johnson. I'm not sure I want to delve into that swamp. You don't have a choice.
Remember, success comes from competition. It's not about taking part, it's about winning.
That's a remix on a common phrase, isn't it? I've heard a different version of that. He ruffles Boris' hair. I expect you to win, Boris! Don't let me down! Boris frowns, concentrates on the centre of the target, waits for his father's call. Fire! Boris feels a sudden searing pain. He reaches down. Blood seeps through his T-shirt. Oh Christ! Which one of you shot him? Leo bursts into tears. It was
Boris wobbles as his mother Charlotte runs towards him. Get him to a hospital, quick! Boris feels Stanley lift him up and run to the car. His mother jumps in the back seat next to him with his youngest brother Joe on her knee. Boris can see his blood seep onto her rabbit fur waistcoat. He lets his head lean against the window as his mother shouts at his father. How the hell did you let this happen? Put your foot down! If he keeps losing this much blood, he'll die! Boris says,
He hears his own weak voice ask, Am I dying? Are we allowed to comment on your young Boris? Sure, sure. Why? Any issues? Not a single one. I just meant generally, if people had feelings, could they write in? Oh, they can write in. Sure. But they're going straight in the shredder. She shakes her head. You're going to be just fine, darling. But she's crying so much he doesn't believe her. Then he hears his dad's cheerful voice.
OK, which one of you is the best speller? Oh, my God, really? Here's your word. Vicissitude. Boris? Wait a sec, that means bad luck, doesn't it? Bad fortune. I mean, that's a bit dark. It is, although it's a word that I think may be relevant throughout this series. Every bump in the winding road is agony, but he concentrates on getting the spelling right. V-I-C-I-I...
Stanley stops him. "Wrong! Rachel, tell Boris how to spell it!" Boris squeezes his eyes shut in humiliation as his sister gets the spelling right. A few minutes later they pull up at the hospital. A doctor cleans his wound, gives him stitches and antibiotics. That night after dinner, Stanley sits everyone down. Boris doesn't want to listen to anything his dad has to say. He's sick of his competitions.
If his dad wants them to play who's the blondest, he's going to refuse. Is that real? Yes, it is. And it doesn't feel like there's a game you've got any control over. It's not a game of skill, is it? Plus his wound still hurts. But Stanley tells them they must all think of themselves as trees in a rainforest. One of you will grow into a huge tree. The others will either perish in its shade or they'll have to find their own place in the sun. His dad looks straight at him.
That special tree is you, Boris. You're my firstborn and the smartest. You are destined for greatness. He watches his dad walk away. He's never loved him as much as he does at this moment. His sister, Rachel, whispers that dad is wrong. That she's going to be the best in the family. I'm going to be queen of the world. Boris gives her a sharp dig to the ribs. I'm going to be king of the world. He's never meant anything more in his life.
From now on, he's going to prove his dad right. He's going to be someone great. June 1974, Brussels. Boris grabs his school bag and runs out of the classroom. He's desperate to get home early. It's his 10th birthday in a few days, and he wants to ask his dad if he can have a party. He likes a girl in his class called Marina, and he wants to invite her. He's already tried asking her out, but she's refused.
You Johnsons are wild. You're too rough. He's tried out his best Bertie Worcester impression on her. What ho, Marina. Fancy joining me for a spot of eggs and bee? That's timeless. I would actually fall for that. At any time of the day? Look, it's a jungle out there. But Marina shook her head and walked away. Last week, when Stanley dropped him off in their old beat-up car, Boris deliberately fell out and rolled on the ground to make her laugh.
Whenever he sees her between classes, he ruffles his hair and pretends to be hopeless so she'll help him. That's been a recurring bit, hasn't it? In fact, that's never really fallen out of the repertoire. Most of the time, she just ignores him. She's a very smart 10-year-old woman, isn't she? He runs into his house, flings his bag on the table, but no-one's home. He opens the fridge door for a snack. Then he hears a thudding noise from one of the bedrooms. He freezes. When you say thudding, what do you mean?
Well, let's just hope Leo hasn't shot anyone else. I don't think it's that, Matt. He creeps upstairs, steps over the squeaky floorboards. His parents' bedroom door is open. His heart thuds. He can hear someone cry out. He creeps up and stands in the doorway and stares in horror. His dad is naked, in bed, with a strange woman. Stanley turns and glares at him, scrambles out of bed and slams the door in his face.
So that's probably, and I'm no child psychologist, never claimed to be, probably going to stay with you. A few minutes later, he's sitting at the kitchen table when his dad comes downstairs. I don't want you to tell your mother what you just saw. Promise me. Boris looks down and nods. It's hard not to think of adult Boris when we're thinking of this scenario, but that is just so crushing and upsetting to think of putting a kid in that position.
That night he's asleep when he hears his parents arguing. They've been fighting a lot recently. He hears his dad shout, "You're paranoid!" A few minutes later his bedroom door opens and his mother comes in. She sits on the side of his bed. "Did your father bring another woman into this house today?" Boris sits up and looks at her. She's been crying. He doesn't want to break his promise to his dad, but he doesn't want to lie to his mum. So he hesitates and then says, "Yes."
He was in bed with her. His mother nods, then wipes her eyes. She doesn't say anything for a while. Thank you for telling me the truth. He listens to his mother weeping in the next room, blinks back his own tears. He should have listened to his dad, been more like him, and just lied. That's a very interesting takeaway from that experience. 1977, Ashdown House Prep School, East Sussex.
Boris grabs the rugby ball, puts his head down and runs for the line. He's got an important exam tomorrow, but right now all he can think about is winning this match. A huge boy sprints towards him. Boris isn't scared. He knows he's big for a 13-year-old, so he shoulders into him, barges past, dives across the line and scores a try. When the game is over, his headmaster, Mr Williams, claps him on the back and tells him he did well.
Last week, Mr Williams put him in for the King's Scholarship exam. If you get this scholarship, Boris, you'll go to Eton as one of its top intellectual elites. You're clever enough. But remember, only the best of the best will succeed. Can people stop giving him this pep talk? What's terrifying is there are children in this country today still getting this sort of pep talk. Definitely. That night, he can't sleep.
He lies in his dorm and stares at the intricate plasterwork on the high ceiling. Of course, his dad can pay for him to go to Eton. That's not a problem. But Boris wants to go as someone special. Only 14 boys in the whole country get a King's Scholarship. He wants to be one of them. He loves school. At home, his parents are always fighting. Right now, his mother is in hospital. She's had a nervous breakdown and he hates visiting.
She paints brightly coloured pictures of the family and they're all weeping. Oh my God! Last time he'd visited, she'd grabbed him, her eyes wild. Don't let anyone break your heart! Not the way your dad broke mine. Promise? He'd nodded and got out as fast as he could. Being with his dad is no better. Last time he was home, he walked in on him with two au pairs and they were all naked.
His dad had told the au pairs it was the rules of the house. Oh, Jesus. His dad doesn't even bring him here from Brussels. He has to come himself with his younger sister, Rachel. Stanley drops them off at Gardunord station in Paris with their bags and Boris has to get them both safely to East Sussex.
Knowing what we know now, it's hard to really feel any sympathy for him whatsoever, especially with all these trappings of a very privileged life. But he is just a kid here and a kid that's kind of been left to deal with the parenting of his younger sibling. It's a lot if you're 13. And this is before the Channel Tunnel. Can you imagine? Next morning, Boris sits in the exam hall and stares at the paper. His heart races.
He's read the question three times now, but he can't answer it. He grips the side of the table and thinks about his dad's advice. How life is a bitter, ruthless competition. How he'll only succeed if he can beat everyone else. He lets go of the desk, grabs his pen and starts writing. Two weeks later, he's just finished choir practice when Mr. Williams calls him over. He walks behind his billowing gown and follows him to his office.
Mr. Williams picks up a piece of paper from his desk. "This, Boris, is a list of the 14 successful King's Scholars for next year's entry into Eton." Boris scans the list. He can't see his name. But then he spots it at the bottom. He's 13th of 14 candidates. Mr. Williams holds out his hand. "You're a King's Scholar! Congratulations!"
Boris beams at Mr Williams. He's made it. He's going to be an elite pupil in a school for elites. And he's going to take every opportunity Eton gives him. 1982. Eton Society Room, Eton. Boris leans back in a velvet armchair and looks at the clock. He's meant to be in a meeting with the Provost in five minutes. But his two best mates, Charles Spencer and Darius Guppy, have just come in.
and they're challenging him to a game of cards. He glances around the pop room at its panelled walls and roaring fire. The what room? The pop room? That's just like Escla playing Kylie Duran Duran. Yeah, I'm not sure that's what it means. He got elected to Eton's elite club of prefects last year. It gives him lots of additional privileges, like imposing fines on other boys. He loves the power it gives him. He takes a bundle of notes out of his pocket now and peels off a fiver.
grins at Spencer with his ruddy face and red hair. "Why not? A quick game won't hurt. I'll deal." He watches Spencer grin back. His sister is Diana, Princess of Wales. Yep, heard of her. He glances over at Guppy as he deals his cards. He's dark-haired, good-looking and has a swagger that Boris adores. Three quarters of an hour later, Boris throws his cards on the table and watches Guppy scoop up his money.
He tugs his waistcoat, ruffles his hair and makes his way to the Provost's office. He needs to give a report on the political society. He's been running it for a while now, but he hasn't done much with it. No comment. He's made a few speeches in praise of... I say they should be given every help possible to become even sickeningly richer. I mean, that feels absurdly pertinent right now, doesn't it? He knocks on the door.
When he walks in, the Provost is livid. You're 45 minutes late. You'd better have a damn good reason, boy. Boris stares at his shoes. He has to think fast. He shuffles from one foot to the other. He's seen his dad fib his way out of scrapes like this. So he clears his throat. I was on the phone to the White House. I've invited the US President to come and talk to the school and he's agreed. When you say fib, he's gone quite big.
He peeps up through his tousled fringe, sees the Provost staring at him, slack-jawed. So he carries on. "I'm just finalising dates. I really can't apologise enough for being late, sir." The Provost frowns, asks him who he spoke to at the White House. He makes up some names. The Provost grins. "Excellent work. Keep me updated." "What?" As Boris walks away, he smiles. Of course he'll never get Ronald Reagan to the school.
No matter. He's just played the biggest game of bluff and won. His dad would be proud. That lie impressed the Provost far more than the truth ever could have. As long as he can sound credible, maybe he can shirk the rules, avoid scrutiny, and really make a name for himself.
You can see how at that age it could be intoxicating, the idea that you had power over your superiors, your elders. But also he's kind of just starting that system of kicking the can down the road. You know, I'll deal with that when it comes. The lie is fine for now and probably in weeks or months time when that comes up again, it'll all be forgotten. We'll be on to the next thing.
Hey, I'm Ryan Reynolds. Recently, I asked Mint Mobile's legal team if big wireless companies are allowed to raise prices due to inflation. They said yes. And then when I asked if raising prices technically violates those onerous two-year contracts, they said, what the f*** are you talking about, you insane Hollywood a**hole?
So to recap, we're cutting the price of Mint Unlimited from $30 a month to just $15 a month. Give it a try at mintmobile.com slash switch. $45 upfront for three months plus taxes and fees. Promote it for new customers for a limited time. Unlimited more than 40 gigabytes per month. Slows. Full terms at mintmobile.com.
Make this new school year an opportunity for your kids to learn important life skills with Greenlight. Greenlight is a debit card and money app for families. Where kids learn how to save, invest, and spend wisely, while parents keep an eye on kids' money habits. Greenlight also helps families get into their fall routine with a chores feature that lets parents assign chores and pay kids allowance when they check them off. Get your first month free at greenlight.com slash wondery. greenlight.com slash wondery. ♪
1983, Oxford Union debating chamber. Allegra Mostyn Owen crosses her legs and leans back on the bench. One of her friends is speaking on the topic, this house would reintroduce capital punishment. She's bored. At least half a dozen men are watching her. She's used to it. Men stare at her all the time. She's known as the most beautiful woman in Oxford. Is that like a posh Oxford version of FHM's Hottest 100? No.
Most of these men haven't got the guts to talk to her, and when they do, she usually wishes they wouldn't. She plays with a strand of her shoulder-length hair, watches a blonde guy fumble with his papers. He starts to talk about why capital punishment is a bad idea, but he's rambling. He drops his papers, bends down, pretends to fart. Some people start to boo. In recent times, that would have been regarded as a great reception. Yes, this was his last good gig. LAUGHTER
She watches him hold up his hand. Friends, let me be the first to boo myself for that terrible indiscretion. Too much student union beer, I'm afraid. She sits forward. Is he kidding? Then he announces...
It seems I should have been arguing in fever of capital punishment, not against it. And now I've led a group of very dangerous criminals rampage through the streets of Oxford. Hang them, I say. Oh my God, the arrogance. The theatrics is just all so familiar. Yes, and to him, he doesn't really care what side of the debate he's on. He just wants to be the most talked about person in it.
He reels off the most outrageous made-up figures about freed criminals who go on to kill people. By all means, take this with a pinch of salt. But think on, my friends. This could well happen in a dorm near you in a dystopian, noose-free world. The whole place erupts in cheers. She's never seen anything like this. Later, she's in the student bar when he comes in. She introduces herself. He doesn't flirt with her like the other men do. He's polite, shy even.
He tells her his name's Boris, that of course he was just clowning around. He doesn't believe in capital punishment, but is serious about being president of the Students' Union one day. I also fully intend to be in the cabinet by the time I'm 35. She watches him blink at her. I must say, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. He blushes when he says it. She smiles at him. I'm having a party in a couple of weeks. Why don't you come? Oh, Allegra.
The following Saturday, she's in bed, reading, when there's a timid knock on the door. It's Boris. He's clutching a bottle of wine. "Am I too late? Is the party still on?" She grins. "It's next week. You got the date wrong." He looks crestfallen, mumbles an over-the-top apology. He turns to go, but she opens the door wider. "Why don't I get us a couple of glasses?" She suspects he's got the day wrong deliberately. "That makes two of us."
She doesn't care. She's never met anyone like Boris. He's funny and interesting and ambitious. There's also something vulnerable about him. For the first time since she got to Oxford, she realises. She's finally met a man she wants to spend time with. 1984. The Oxford Union Bar. Boris grabs the pint being held out to him. Tries not to spill it in the scrum. He's had four already, but he manages to slurp this one, then hold it up.
He calls for quiet, looks at the large group around him. Some are his old mates from Eton, some are new friends. He toasts them all now. To you all, and to the victory of yours truly! He's in his final days campaigning to be president of the Student Union. He's desperate to win. Remember my friends, fortune fevers the bald. I want you all to spread the word and get as many votes as you can, and get me elected!
Boris sips his pint and looks over at his opponent, Neil Sherlock, a grammar school boy. Sherlock is campaigning on meritocrats versus toffs. He glugs down his pint. A younger student rushes to the bar and buys him another. He's about to take it when his eyes fall on a nervous young guy who's just walked in. Boris looks him up and down. He's wearing jeans and a baggy jumper. And he's asking for directions to Balliol College. Boris waves him over, shoves the pint in his hand and asks his name.
He's called Damien. He's a sixth former from Devon. His father is a farm worker and he's got a stammer. Boris grins at the crowd around him. So, D-D-D-D-Damien from D-D-D-Devon, what makes you think you can get into B-B-B-B-B-Baliel? He watches Damien's cheeks turn crimson. My teachers told me. Boris wheels round.
"Hear that, everybody? His teachers told him so! Well, I hate to break it to you, but your inadequate state school teachers lied. You may as well leave now on your father's donkey cart." He watches the boy's eyes redden with tears. His hands shake as he puts down his pint. But Boris stops him. "I gave you that pint! Don't be ungrateful! Drink it!" He watches as the boy downs the pint then runs for the door.
Boris raises the empty glass. Let's hear it for the Toffs! The bar erupts in cheers. Bloody hell! I mean, that's not just banter. That's just foul bullying. And it's clearly what sits just below the surface. A few days later, he stands opposite Neil Sherlock as the results are read out. Boris Johnson, 558 votes.
Boris stares. He can't believe it. He's lost to a grammar school boy. He runs out, hides in his room. For the next two days, he lives on biscuits and leftover pizza. "Boris! Let me in. I need to know you're okay."
But he can't even face Allegra. The humiliation of this defeat's killing him. He's meant to be a winner. He can't understand what went wrong. He doesn't sleep that night. But in the morning, he looks around his messy room and decides. Every great leader has faced defeat. Their greatness came from not giving up. And he won't either. He's going to promise the students whatever they want. Play being a man of the people. From now on, he's no longer a toff.
He's a liberal. Twelve months later, Oxford campus. Michael Gove takes a step back, adjusts his large glasses and looks at the Vote Boris poster he's just put up on the notice board. He checks his watch. He's studying English and he's got a pile of novels to read by tomorrow. But this is more important. He's promised Boris he'll do everything he can to get him elected. And he means it. Next year, he wants to stand for president himself, but he can't do it alone.
He hasn't got the connections or wealth. His own dad runs a fish processing business. But if he can get Boris' support and borrow some of the glamour of his inner circle, he might just manage it. He takes out his list of students. They're all more pro-liberal than conservative. Boris has told him to promise them if he gets elected, he'll follow a liberal-leaning agenda.
Boris firmly believes in proportional representation, in further integration into Europe. What's more, he's going to spend his time as president helping less well-off students. Next day, he's in the Students' Union when he sees Boris heading towards him. "My favourite foot soldier! How's it going?" Michael pushes his glass up his nose and nods. "Great! We're getting a lot of support!" Boris slaps him on the back. Tells him that's brilliant news.
He's about to walk away when Michael clears his throat, calls out, ''I'd like to run for president myself next year. Will you support me?'' Boris nods, grins. ''You get me elected. I'll pull out all the stops, I promise.'' ''That's not a yes, is it?'' A few days later, Michael puts on his tartan kilt and heads off for the results. He pushes his way through the crowds, cranes his neck to see Boris. By the time he reaches him, the official is already calling the results.
He holds his breath in the hush. I declare the winner Boris Johnson. The place erupts, everyone jumping and congratulating each other. Michael pushes his way to Boris. Congratulations, we did it. He holds out his hand, but Boris ignores him.
This is just so bizarre, knowing what we know now. This is like a nativity play version of what later happened in the British government. They'd done all this before, all the same people, and then we watched it happen at the heart of government. Michael Watchers, stunned, as Boris pushes past, he calls out, but someone next to him tells him not to waste his breath. He turns. It's Darius Guppy.
Why would he speak to you? And don't think he'll support you next year because he won't. He calls you gopher gov. You're a joke. Michael watches Guppy and Boris head off to celebrate. He walks slowly back to his room and sits on the bed, feels his bottom lip tremble. Guppy's right. What was he thinking?
he'll never be one of Boris' close friends. He's just not part of their world. From now on, he'll knuckle down to his studies, work hard to get a good degree, and avoid Boris Johnson like the plague. 1987, Oxford. A side street. Late evening. Boris glances over his shoulder. The dark streets behind him glow with lights from college windows. Police! Stop!
He darts down an alley and runs for his life. He sprints faster. He's wearing his Bullingdon Club uniform of navy blue tailcoat with white silk facings, gold buttons and a mustard waistcoat. The whole thing cost him a grand and now it could get him arrested. A few hours ago, he'd gone to a restaurant with his Buller mates. They'd been drinking heavily and throwing food around as usual. The future power players of our country, everybody. One of the waiters had stepped in to calm things down.
Guppy had started arguing with him. Someone else had picked up a plant and hurled it through the window. And now the police are chasing them. He runs down an alley, but it's a dead end. They're getting closer. His heart thuds. He hears someone hiss his name. Boris! He looks down at some bins, sees David Cameron crouching. He runs over and hides with him. The alley lights up with car headlights. David whispers to him, See that wall? Think you can make it over?
Stop right there! Then David says...
I'm sorry about leaving the other chaps to face the music, but I want to be PM one day, and getting arrested wouldn't do. No, Dave, don't worry. You can break the law and still be PM. Boris stops. You? I'm going for PM myself. He hears David laugh. Sorry, Boris, I can't see that happening. Let's hope you're talking more sense tomorrow when you're sober. Boris watches as David saunters off, whistling. He stands in the silence for a few minutes.
When he came to Oxford, he set himself three goals. Get a first, become president of the union and find a wife. At 18, imagine having such a mercenary to-do list. Getting a first might be tricky. He's partied more than he's studied. But he's more or less achieved the other two. Now, though, he's got another goal, to beat that smug git Cameron to prime minister and to make Cameron rue the day he ever underestimated Boris Johnson.
It's March 1990, Halloran House Hotel, New York. Darius Guppy stares at the gun that's pointing straight at him. He glances around the hotel room. His clothes are strewn around the floor. His bags have been tipped onto the bed. He looks over at his business partner, Benedict Marsh. They're both tied to chairs in the middle of the room. Guppy looks back at the gunman. Make it look messier, like you've really ransacked the place.
He's been organising this fake robbery for months. The last thing he wants is to be let down by sloppy detail. He watches the gunman, Peter Risdon, pick up a knife and slash open the pockets of his suitcase. He's paid him £10,000 for this. It has to look right. Things haven't gone guppy's way since he left Oxford. He tried making money as a bond trader, but made huge losses.
He's just spent the morning visiting gem dealers on Fifth Avenue. He wanted to make sure he'd been seen with the gems, but he didn't want to actually sell them, so he deliberately set the price too high. Then he'd gone to a bank and put them in a safety deposit box. Guppy shuffles. He really needs the toilet. He'd just finished a bottle of champagne with Benedict when Risdon came in. He should have gone before Risdon tied them up.
It's all of the logistics you don't think of when you're doing a fake robbery. You've got to plan in the bathroom breaks. He nods over at him now. Tip that lamp, but don't make too much noise. We don't want anyone running in before you've escaped. Guppy watches Rizdan gently put the lamp on its side. He takes one last look around the room and then tells him, OK, now. He watches Rizdan pick up the gun, aim it over their heads...
and fire into the mattress. He waits a few minutes until Risdon's gone, then yells for help. 50 minutes later, he sits on the bed sobbing. He blinks up at the New York police officer, tells her, I thought he was going to kill us both. I had emeralds, sapphires and rubies worth 1.8 million pounds, and now it's all gone. He's taken everything.
This season, Instacart has your back to school. As in, they've got your back to school lunch favorites, like snack packs and fresh fruit. And they've got your back to school supplies, like backpacks, binders, and pencils. And they've got your back when your kid casually tells you they have a huge school project due tomorrow.
Let's face it, we were all that kid. So first call your parents to say I'm sorry, and then download the Instacart app to get delivery in as fast as 30 minutes all school year long. Get a $0 delivery fee for your first three orders while supplies last. Minimum $10 per order. Additional terms apply. A few days later, he flies home on Concorde, sips champagne and leans back. The police believed him. The robbery couldn't have gone any smoother.
He makes a fantasy list of how he's going to spend the insurance payout. That night, back at home, he gets a call from Benedict, his accomplice. He's so nervous he can hardly speak. A News of the World journalist has been asking questions about the robbery. Some guy called Stuart Collier. Christ, Guppy, he's on to us. What the hell are we going to do? Guppy stands there, the colour draining out of his face. The reality of his perilous situation comes crashing down.
He could lose everything. He begins pacing, frantically running through his mental rolodex. Then he stops in his tracks. He has an idea. He knows exactly who he can call to get him out of trouble. A few weeks later, Daily Telegraph office, Brussels. 26-year-old Boris runs into his office.
He's got a date with his childhood sweetheart Marina tonight. Oh boy, that is the long game. What's that? 16 years. 16 years to break her spirit. Good going. He can't wait. He's even had a haircut. First though, he has to bash out an article on the latest EU legislation. He should have sent it to London hours ago, but he hasn't even started. He needs to get in the right frame of mind.
So he stands in front of a wilting yucca plant, pretends it's an EU official and yells abuse at it. There were so many options for where that was going to go. And that was actually the first thing I thought you were going to say. When he first got this job, he'd been bored witless. But now he's found a way to make it exciting and make a name for himself. He takes whatever topic the EU are debating or whatever gossip he's heard and turns it into something funny or dramatic.
So far, he's made up a story about the Italian rubber industry falling foul of the EU by making undersized condoms. Bit judgmental.
A short while ago, he wrote how the EU were going to blow up the Commission building, the EU's asbestos-clad headquarters with dynamite. And of course, there was his pièce de résistance, the bendy bananas. Oh, of course. If you're not familiar with this story, there was a notorious rumour that made it into various British newspapers that the EU had rules on how bendy a banana could be and that British grocers were effectively not allowed to sell bendy bananas because they had to be straight.
It was all made up. Probably the most notorious piece of anti-EU propaganda in British history. It's not exactly what he'd imagined himself doing when he left Oxford. He'd started at The Times, but they'd sacked him for making up a quote. But now he's found a way to make lying work for him. Oh, good. A few days ago, he found out that Prime Minister John Major had complained to his editor that these articles were making his work with Europe difficult. But his editor, Max Hastings, told Boris to carry on.
In fact, Boris, the more pompous you are, the better. Readers can't get enough of this stuff. We need a summit on encouraging him, don't we? Only problem is, he's late for Marina. He's meeting her at a restaurant to talk about their future. His stomach dances a little when he thinks about her. They've been seeing each other since his marriage to Allegra started falling apart. He's still married, but tonight he's going to ask Marina to marry him. He'll get a quickie divorce, then they can be together properly.
He pats down his hair and heads for the door. He snatches up the phone, expects to hear Marina's voice asking where he is. But it's Darius Guppy. Have you got the number? Boris's shoulders drop. Guppy has been hounding him for weeks. He wants the address of a journalist called Stuart Collier. He wants it because Collier has some incriminating information on Guppy. And Guppy wants to beat him up.
This doesn't sound like protocol. Shouldn't this go through the Press Complaints Commission or something? Yes, so back then you would have to apply to have a journalist beaten up. And if it was signed off by your editor and an editor of a rival paper, then you could basically do what you want. This is so dark. How badly are you going to hurt this guy? Not badly at all. Boris knows Guppy is lying. He knows what Guppy is like, his anger problems. But he also wants to help. Guppy is his friend after all.
Really, I want to know how badly. Look, if this guy's seriously hurt, I'll be fucking furious. Does a single sentence more perfectly sum up how morally corrupt someone is? He won't have any broken limbs or a broken arm. He won't be put into intensive care or anything like that. He'll probably get a couple of black eyes and a cracked rib or something. A cracked rib? Boris, it's nothing you didn't suffer in rugby, OK? But he'll get scared, and that's what I want. I want him to get scared.
Boris's eyes widen. He's already asked a friend of his to hunt down the number. His friend has told him he's almost found it. But Boris knows if something bad happens and it gets out that he helped Guppy, his career is over. If I get into trouble, Guppy cuts him off. You will not, Boris. I swear to you. This won't get back to you. Why would Guppy's word mean anything to you?
Boris stands there, the phone pressed to his face. He remembers how far he and Guppy go back. Best friends since school. The card games, the champagne. "Okay, Dari, I said I'd do it and I'll do it. Leave it with me." "Boris, I really mean it. I love you. I owe you one." Boris hangs up, heads for the door and just hopes no one ever finds out about what he's done.
It's eight years later, 1998, BBC television studio, London. Boris ruffles up his hair and steps onto the set of Have I Got News For You. He's determined to get as many laughs as he can. He's aiming to stand for Parliament soon, but he wants to go in as more than just another MP.
He wants to enter politics as a celebrity. This is so key, isn't it? Boris's appearance on Have I Got News for You is one of the crucial staging posts of his career. It's fundamental to his future success. He shakes hands with the other panellists, then settles down next to Paul Merton. He's worried about Merton's quick wit. But most of all, he's worried about Ian Hislop, editor of Private Eye. Hislop's already published a few damning articles about him. The questions start.
He makes a few jokes to show he doesn't take himself too seriously. Here's a ripple of laughter. He looks out at Marina in the audience, who smiles back at him. He'd married her a few days after his divorce from Allegra. She was already pregnant and now they've got three kids and planning a fourth. Bloody hell. He sits back, joins in where the other panellists have a go at him. He likes playing up to the posh buffoon. The audience love it. He even gets a laugh from Hislop. Starts to relax, even enjoy himself.
And then he hears Hislop say something. I'm surprised you gave me this question because Boris was caught on tape as well. Boris's heart feels like it drops out of his stomach. The host asks him what he was recorded saying. He mumbles a response about not being able to remember. Straight away, Hislop fires back. I do. Boris was on tape talking to Darius Guppy.
Oh dear. It's an ambush. He feels the heat of the studio lights, the focus of the cameras on his face. He can no longer see Marina. Guppy had been found guilty five years ago of fraud, theft and false accounting and sent to prison. On top of this, it turns out an enemy of Guppy's was tapping his phone and so the conversation he had with Boris was recorded and then leaked to the press.
And now here he is, on live television, being grilled about it by Ian Hislop. He fixes a grin on his face, tries to make a joke, saying he was never serious about finding the address and that Collier was never beaten up anyway. I won't deny a word of it. I'm not ashamed of it. Look, I've been totally stitched up here. I want it on the record that I've walked into a massive elephant trap. The audience burst into laughter. Boris sits back, eyeing Hislop.
He just hopes he hasn't said anything incriminating. He can almost feel his political career slipping away. When the show's over, he snatches off his microphone and storms over to Ian Hislop. "You fucking ambushed me!" Hislop leans back, takes his pen in both hands and grins. "You're welcome, Boris. Anytime." As he walks away, he hears Hislop call out, "Watch out for this story in private eye!" When he gets home, he storms around furious.
tries to calculate the damage to his reputation. This could finish his political career before it started. Next day, he writes an article in The Spectator, says the show is fake, that all the best ad libs are scripted. I love the idea that you could take down a satirical panel show by saying, and guess what? Some of the comedians write jokes before they start filming. Some of it's not even funny, they don't show that bit. But Marina warns him not to fall out with Ian Hislop.
He could cause you too many problems. Write to him and apologise. He wants to argue with her, but he knows she's right. So he sends off the most charming, humble apology he can. Not sincere, but charming. A few days later, he gets a call from the studio. The viewing figures were through the roof and everyone's talking about it. The producer tells him... You gave us a real water cooler moment. We'd love to have you back on the show.
He hangs up, leans back in his swivel chair, lets his face tip to the ceiling. A scandal like this would have sunk most people. But he's not most people. He's Boris. And he's on his way to unstoppable fame. This is the first episode in our series, Boris Johnson.
A quick note about our dialogue. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but all of our dramatisations are based on historical research. If you'd like to know more about this story, you can read Just Boris, A Tale of Blonde Ambition by Sonia Purnell, Chums by Simon Cooper, Blonde Ambition, The Rise and Rise of Boris Johnson by Nigel Cawthorn, The Gambler by Tom Bower, and Boris Johnson by Andrew Jimson.
I'm Alice Levine. And I'm Matt Ford. Karen Laws wrote this episode. Additional writing by Alice Levine and Matt Ford. Sound design by Rich Evans. Script editing by James Magniac. Script consulting by Max Stern. British Scandal is produced by Samizdat Audio. Our associate producer is Francesca Gilardi Quadrio Corseo.
Our producer is Millie Chu. The senior producer is Joe Sykes. Our managing producers are Tonja Thigpen and Matt Gant. Our executive producers are Jenny Lower-Beckman, Stephanie Jens and Marshall Louis for Wondery. Wondery.
Scammers are best known for living the high life until they're forced to trade it all in for handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit once they're finally caught. I'm Sachi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the host of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of some of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away.
We've covered stories like a Shark Tank certified entrepreneur who left the show with an investment but soon faced mounting bills, an active lawsuit filed by Larry King, and no real product to push. He then began to prey on vulnerable women instead, selling the idea of a future together while stealing from them behind their backs.
To the infamous scams of Real Housewives stars like Teresa Giudice, what should have proven to be a major downfall only seemed to solidify her place in the Real Housewives Hall of Fame. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Scamfluencers early and ad-free right now on Wondery+.