The last time Boris Johnson went on a proper break, in January, he chose the Caribbean and stayed in a luxury villa on the island of Mustique that rents for £15,000 a week.
His summer holiday, it emerged on Friday, had a studiedly different vibe: a remote three-bedroom cottage on the coast of Scotland – with a tent in the garden.
In some ways, the property fits the bill for the prime ministerial getaway: chintzy furniture, log-burner, a cot, pets allowed, will comfortably accommodate his family of three.
It also appears ideally located to avoid passersby (or, at least, it must have done until a long-lens photographer for the Daily Mail showed up – a development which, it transpired on Friday, forced Johnson to cut his holiday short on Thursday night).
But what about the tent? With Downing Street reluctant to be drawn on any aspect of the holiday, speculation about the canvas yurt abounded. Not least – who put it up – and why did it have to come down? A few possibilities present themselves:
Guest quarters?
If Johnson had guests staying, it may be that some poor unfortunates (unlikely to include the PM himself, you feel) have been exiled from bricks and mortar to canvas and guy ropes, possibly to avoid any Dominic Cummings-style scandal over adherence to coronavirus protocol. But this literalised support bubble would only be necessary if more than two households were present on the trip.
Possibly the security guards were bedding down outside. But if so, the fact that their temporary HQ was facing away from the principal appears less than totally secure, and surely not even Britain’s clumsiest enemies are likely to have contemplated an attack from the sea. Also, there are six in the security detail – and they are presumably massive, so it would have been a squeeze.
Maybe it’s where the political staff were based – Spads on tour, so to speak. This is roughly in keeping with the indignities suffered by the advisers terrorised by Malcolm Tucker in The Thick of It – and after all, we know that Cummings is used to staying in an outhouse separate from the main property.
Retreat for an afternoon nap?
If it’s none of the above, it’s possible that Johnson – or Carrie – used the tent as a daytime bolthole to escape the grousing of Dilyn (dog) or Wilfred (baby). A quiet place, perhaps, to read through the documents in his red boxes. At that distance from the house, he wouldn’t hear the wailing of his infant son, or indeed his education secretary, Gavin Williamson, whose difficulties this week would have kept anyone up at night.
He may, on the other hand, hear the wailing of the quite angry farmer who turns out to own the land the tent was pitched on, and came forward on Friday to accuse Johnson of having a bonfire in his field as well as kipping in it. As Kenny Cameron told the Mail about his concerns, the prime minister’s security team arrived to dismantle the tent and clear away any rubbish.
Just how posh is the tent?
Well, it’s not that posh, says Stephanie Keates, of Moray Bell Tent Hire (on the other side of Scotland, and no, she didn’t rent the prime minister his, sadly). “It’s a normal bell tent,” she observes. “We also do a star emperor” – which is massive – “or a luna bell”, which resembles a meringue. Keates hires hers out furnished for £110 a night (and is sold out for the summer, which success she partly attributes to holidaymakers like the prime minister seeking options closer to home).
Still, even if it’s not top of the range, it’s large and spacious enough to contain a prime minister, a beanbag and a stack of BTec regrades to get on with.
Was it suitable for the Scottish coast?
Coastal gales, pouring rain and endless midges might make the less stoical among us long for the roaring fire inside – but Keates says bell tents are made of tough stuff. “They’re quite durable, they withstand the wind quite well, they’re well supported, with the guy ropes and everything,” she says. “We tested them out in the worst weather to make sure they’re up to it and we’ve never had a leak or problems in high winds.”
Compare the tautly pristine ads online to the sagging reality as captured in the photo. His critics may see in this image the inevitable tint of a Brexit metaphor.
Why does he always wear his hat like that?
Nobody knows the answer to this.
