Christmas is just around the corner- Boris and Donald are planning a knees up.

 Christmas is just around the corner- Boris and Donald are planning a knees up. 

So here we are just under a fortnight to go before the big day and the leaders of the Western world are planning one of the loudest. brashest, noisiest Christmas parties of all time. In the Johnson and Trump household the scissors are out, the paper mache and glue ready to hand, balloons and streamers not that far away and all the familiar festive paraphernalia. Then they'll look lovingly at their respective Christmas trees, juggling with baubles. glitter, fairies, stars and then the customary festive presents. You're all invited. 

It is now a year since both Boris Johnson in the United Kingdom corner and Donald Trump in the United States of America corner found themselves busy putting the final touches to their preparations for the Christmas holidays. Boris, for his part, was still preening himself after a spectacular General Election victory, a landslide triumph so resounding that Labour's Jeremy Corbyn must have thought he'd hit a wall, stepped on a landmine or been hit over the head a thousand times by a blue mallet. This General Election malarkey is a piece of cake or so Boris must have felt at the time. 

But then Johnson, comfortably installed as Prime Minister, eased his way through January and February, hoping quite clearly that nothing untoward would happen to him on the way into 10 Downing Street. Indeed it was plain sailing but then he crashed into March and we all what happened next. Oh dear, the most improbable accident of all time. In fact he quite literally ended up in hospital suffering from the virus he'd just witnessed in his rear-view mirror. So we covered our eyes in horror and winced with shock. 

Thankfully the year is now rapidly approaching its end and the Trump- Johnson household can finally shake off their burdensome troubles and concentrate on the Christmas beano, partying and boogying until deep into the small hours of Boxing Day. They'll be climbing awkwardly onto ladders, draping lanterns across their dining rooms, giggling, chuckling, lamenting and cursing in varying measures and ways. Both have been at the centre of the public's attention for ages and both must be hoping that this year doesn't repeat itself next year. 

But jolly Boris, a hilarious and sometimes absurd figure straight from the realms of an old Dan Dare comic, will be bounding across his home, dashing away now to a vitally important Brexit summit in Brussels, running back into the kitchen, flopping into a sofa bedecked with tinsel and paper, gasping for breath before leafing through an old copy of Private Eye just to see whether he's featured in it or not. Then he'll trudge wearily upstairs, fumble around in his wardrobe for his yearly Santa Claus pullover, pull out his Old Etonian jacket and pretend he's still playing real tennis with his former fellow students.

Downstairs his girlfriend Carrie will be rummaging through the chest of drawers for the laptop whose contents Boris unforgivably ruined shortly before he became Prime Minister. We all know what major international incident took place next. Carrie, suitably incensed with her partner, engaged in a spot of argy-bargy, an altercation that ended up with words exchanged and wine being wiped from the said laptop. 

Then Boris and his new family will partake in a small glass of mulled wine, reminisce on old photos, read passages from Boris's award-winning literary piece de resistance and then take a lingering look at his Winston Churchill biography. Boris is now a classical self -parody; still scruffy, dishevelled, bumbling, buffoonish at times in the most endearing way, honourable and well-intentioned when the occasion suits him, putting his foot in it and then saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. 

The new series of Spitting Image portrays a man with a sheaf of wheat on his head, dribbling out sentences that seemed to tumble out of his mouth in a gushing cascade of incoherence. Then he'll remember where he is and what he's supposed to be doing. He'll acknowledge the assistance of the chief medical and scientific officers to whom he thus far has been totally answerable. He'll stick a paper hat on his head on Christmas Day, tuck ravenously into the turkey and trimmings and then dig out the new comb he'd just been presented with earlier on in the day. 

Meanwhile at the White House in Washington DC, one Donald Trump and that extraordinary family of his will be gathering around their tree in a frozen state of disbelief.  Trump will still remind you of an erupting volcano, red in the face, shaking, privately grieving, gritting his teeth, frothing at the mouth with yet more righteous indignation, saying that this can't be fair over and over again. Trump is now beyond control, fighting the urge to throw anything across the living room and smashing a mirror. The reality is now sinking in and Trump is still sounding out lawyers. It beggars belief. 

And yet when he sits down shortly and reasons with himself he'll find that he's no longer President of the United States and that's not going to be a good feeling. So he'll pour himself a Budweiser, munch bitterly on a whole succession of hot dogs and burgers dripping with ketchup and then mope. He'll pull a Christmas cracker, watch a boxset of baseball classics and will come to terms with his vastly inflated ego. He may be accused of being a waste of space and inadequacy by some but not others. 

So there you have the domestic idyll of the Trump and Johnson homestead. Both will be wishing seasons greetings to one and all. But both recognise that for one at least this is the end of the road for him while the other may have to endure a much longer and harder rehabilitation. Donald Trump will still be hogging the headlines with now ludicrous plans to set up his own TV channel and Boris Johnson may be counting the days down to the end of this year. Still. it's Christmas everybody. Well almost. Here's a word for all Prime Ministers and now former American presidents. Cheer up it may never happen although it may seem as if it already has. Life is indeed beautiful.