Boris and Dave

As I recently reported there is at least one sane voice in the Blue Room.

At a recent conclave of the Sevco High Command an RIFC director asked his colleague “how do we fund this going forward?”

I’m told that this very reasonable question was brushed aside by His Glibness in Johannesburg.

Apparently, everything is going to turn out fine and dandy and something will turn up.

That, I’m afraid is the Sevco High Command’s “Grand Plan”.

One rather cynical source did suggest to me that the Convict Chairman does hope that one of the more senior chaos in the Blue Room will, once more,  provide some external finance.

The recent debt for equity swap represented, in real terms, a huge financial loss for some of the King Concert Party.

Well, all of them except Dave.

Of course, it would be foolish to dismiss the ability of Mr King to convince an otherwise shrewd business person to lose money via a “soft investment”.

He certainly has a track record in prising cash away from people who care a lot about their bottom line.

The extent to which the concerns of the sane Sevco director were recently dismissed struck me as being very similar to those who are warning against a No Deal Brexit.

The chap who is most likely to be the next Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland doesn’t appear to have any specify fucks to give on the matter.

When he is asked carefully prepared questions about Brexit he simply waves his hand in a glib and shameless fashion.

Several experienced journalists have tried to try to pin him down on the specifics of leaving the European Union without a deal on the 31^st of October this year.

However, despite his spoofing, the Tory grassroots still believe in him the way the Ibrox klanbase think that Mr King is their saviour.

It must be pointed out that there is a substantial overlap between the hardline Brexiteers fuelled by xenophobia and the Famine Song choir at Ibrox.

Of course, my analogy falls down in that Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson IS subjected to forensic journalistic scrutiny about his character and his plans for the UK should be become primus inter pares.

Sadly, on Planet Fitba Mr David Cunningham King has the type of drooling obedience of the local media that any dictator would dream of.

If only Boris the Bullingdon Boy could rely on the shadowy services of the Phantom Freelancer.

Instead, he has real journalists pressing him on his non-existent plans for life outside of the EU.

Whatever calamity befalls the UK Boris will emerge with his Etonian Teflon intact.

In that, my analogy still has some merit as it is never Dave’s fault.

Moreover, the chaps on the sports desks are playing their part in this.

Of course, in the end, the facts of Sevco’s financial predicament will be impervious to spin.

Just like the Brexit shambles, there will come a point when the observable data is overwhelming.

At least the journalists in London are serving the public interest and holding power to account.

Dave is a lucky guy…