WE all have things that come back to us at random times. Memories of embarrassing comments or long-dropped ignorant opinions that slip into our thoughts for no reason other than to inflict a moment of cringe.

One of mine is a memory of having the chance to say, years ago in front of a group of peers, exactly what I would tell Tony Blair if ever given the opportunity to meet him.

Standing to speak on impulse, I suddenly realised I didn’t actually know what I’d have said. So instead of rightly gouging him over the Iraq War or neoliberalism or his undermining of civil liberties instead I froze up and said … nothing much at all really. I can’t say I’d have the same problem with Boris Johnson.

Given his love for legacy and the great figures of British political history, the hot question I’d want to ask Johnson would be how it felt to know that he will be remembered as the worst prime minister in living memory – future Tory PMs’ records pending. Would that be petty? Probably. But a serious question is no more likely to prompt an honest and worthwhile answer from Johnson than one born of schadenfreude, so why not?

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He has been a dream candidate for accelerationism and the independence movement in Scotland, although the consequences of his time at Westminster are too cruel to gloat over.

He leaves Downing Street amid the worst cost of living crisis in well over half a century; a parliament mired in corruption (well, more than usual at least); and a country boiling with the kind of infectious rebellion that would have seen Johnson’s political idols of the past preparing to roll out the paramilitaries.

Something is rotten in the state of Britain, and regardless of who is announced today as the next Prime Minister, neither Rishi Sunak nor Liz Truss have the ideas or capabilities to even begin to fix the damage Johnson has caused.

Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson is the Tory’s Tory, the natural endpoint of more than a decade of Conservative government; a bumbling, upper-class bore whose time at Number 10 will not be rehabilitated in the eyes of the Scottish public no matter how often we have to hear another clipped voice insist he “got the big calls right”.

On Britain’s furlough scheme during the pandemic, he arguably did. But that’s a bit like catching a coherent sentence from a conspiracy theorist rapidly cycling the conversation from chemtrails to the moon landings. It doesn’t mean much in context. Covid contract scandals to the left of me, partygate to the right. The furlough scheme was stuck in the middle of Johnson’s chaotic leadership, with each new scandal being sidelined until the time for any meaningful action had passed.

As with Donald Trump, the sheer scale and relentless nature of Johnson’s ineptitude created a critical mass of nonsense that took time to really sift through. Comments like his hastily retracted proclamation that devolution had been a disaster for Scotland, or to let the bodies pile high during the pandemic, ultimately became part of a timeless mishmash of belligerence in which it becomes nigh impossible to remember how much time elapsed between Johnson hiding in a fridge to avoid journalists, his receiving a fine for breaking lockdown and him being accused of misleading the House of Commons on multiple occasions.

When he lost the crowds at the Queen’s platinum jubilee, it was finally over. For the people who get excited by an old lady in a fancy hat to boo a Conservative prime minister, things must have gone truly wrong.

The relationship between the aristocracy and the royals has deep roots. Now, for all we know, the Queen has only been pretending to be unfit in the hope Johnson won’t bother making the trip to Balmoral tomorrow to see his successor appointed.

So with Johnson’s time at Downing Street officially coming to an end, what does he leave behind? An apartment pasted with wonky £840-a-pop golden wallpaper, courtesy of a private donor? A photo album of Johnson stalking the halls of local hospitals, looking ready to lumber into a rugby tackle of any doctor even considering asking about NHS privatisation.

And four nations facing the prospect of a winter without heating, under the threat of rolling blackouts and the most heartless, draconian and authoritarian legislative agenda in decades.

Johnson will be remembered for fracturing the UK, driving it to the point where the relationships between its nations have never been more fraught, and the labour movement has found itself rightly re-invigorated to address the consequences of over a decade of conservative rule. Hardly the legacy he clearly expected for himself.

So bye, bye Boris. May you be remembered for exactly what you are.