The looks on the Tory frontbench said it all. Dominic Raab, Alok Sharma, Liz Truss and Sajid Javid could barely bring themselves to even glance at Boris Johnson. Their eyes were dead, their faces expressionless. Just wishing they were anywhere but in the Commons for prime minister’s questions. Beam me up. Realising they were stuck in their leader’s own nightmare. Partygate wasn’t going away any time soon. It would be with them for months yet. Slowly dragging everyone down with it. The Convict’s shame was now their shame. Johnson was keen to move on. He was desperate to talk about the cost of living crisis – even though it’s getting worse by the day under his government. At this rate, half the country will be eating from food banks by the end of the year. That’s if anyone can afford to use a cooker. Anything but focus on his own criminality. Boris had made an apology of sorts the evening before. It had been devoid of any real contrition, but so what? It would have to do. Real repentance would suggest a desire to change. And he felt no such thing. All The Convict was really sorry for was having got caught. The law was never meant for people like him. But it was never going to work out so easily for Johnson. There would be more fines for far more serious offences. Tory MPs who had gone out on a limb to defend him for his birthday party – the kind of gathering that the prime minister had said was illegal on an almost nightly basis during his lockdown press conferences – would now find themselves thrown under a bus as they were asked to explain all the other piss-ups. Keir Starmer was in no mood to let Johnson off the hook. He began with a simple question. One to which he knew The Convict had no answer. Why had he accepted Allegra Stratton’s resignation? If there had never been any parties, as he had frequently told MPs, why was there any need for her to leave No 10? Boris mumbled incoherently and tugged The Toddler Haircut. His face was pasty and he was looking like carrion. It’s a surprise no one has suggested he goes for his own good, never mind the country’s. This was a visceral cross-examination. The Labour leader used to try to keep PMQs on a strictly professional working basis. The forensic semi-detached lawyer. But now he makes no attempt to conceal his hatred and contempt for Johnson. It drips like acid from every sentence. And is all the more deadly for it. It’s not the rambling, shambolic dislike that Boris has for Starmer and anyone else who dares challenge him. It’s directed with laser precision. After listing others who had paid for their rule-breaking with their jobs, Starmer returned to Johnson’s behaviour the previous day. Having put on a show for the TV cameras in the Commons of apologising for having been found guilty of breaking the law – it’s still not clear if he really believes he broke a law, or if he thinks the law applies to him – he showed his true colours in a private meeting of Tory MPs. The struggle of being on his best behaviour for two hours had been too much and The Convict had let rip. He’d never really been guilty of anything. The rules were stupid and he’d be sure to give a piece of his mind to whoever had made them. Worst of all were the BBC and the archbishop of Canterbury, who had been tougher on the government’s immigration policy than they had on Putin’s invasion of Ukraine. Johnson confected outrage. Starmer was nothing but a Corbynista in an Islington suit, he blustered. It still didn’t work when he tried the line a second time. No one believes Starmer is a Corbynista and it was Johnson who used to own the £3.75m Islington house. Up until the point he got slung out for having yet another affair. Lying and deceit are The Convict’s life-blood. He then did a bit of PR for the Rwandan tourist board. The country was basically one big holiday camp and if his plan did have a fault, it was that refugees would be clogging up Kent beaches in their desperation to get a free air ticket to Kigali. But even then, the Rwandans would be thrilled to get so many immigrants. It was almost as if he believed that immigration could be beneficial to a country. Then The Convict turned his attention to the BBC. He had never said the BBC was biased in its journalism. It had just been a story invented by the … er, Daily Telegraph. Tell that to the prime minister’s press spokesperson, who briefed the hacks. Tory MPs who had only just got used to the idea that the Beeb were evil lefties who should have the licence fee withdrawn looked understandably nonplussed by this sudden reversal but chose to roll with it. Everything was a lie, he insisted. He had been slandered. The irony of Boris accusing others of lying didn’t escape anyone. By now Johnson was careering out of control and he barely survived the rest of the session as one opposition MP after another pointed out that he couldn’t be trusted to tell the truth about anything. Even the most vocal Tory backbenchers fell silent as it gradually dawned on them that their champion was now their liability. They just wanted it all to stop. But it had barely just begun. There was only one ending to this. And it wouldn’t be pretty for The Convict.