Not a lubricant... I don't believe!

There is nothing so troublesome as procrastination. To be indecisive about a direction and so take no decision. To stand, if you like, at the head of a path that splits in two and be unable to decide which one to take. Robert Frost would understand, although he chose one, and it was less trod, if memory serves me correctly.

BoJo was vacillating. When he was advised, by an advisor, that he was vacillating, he claimed somewhat to the advisers dismay, that he was not currently in need of any form of lubrication. He also gave the advisor a kind of curious, stay away from me with your whacky ideas kind of look. This look was commensurate with a man who mistook vacillation for something completely different and something that only has questionable usages by a very small proportion of the population. Mainly that proportion of the population attended very private schools with a pretty much entire male attendance although there were always the odd questionable ones. And indeed, nowadays the questions would not be so much questions as a shrug of acceptance that life, and indeed sexuality has changed quite a lot since Tom Brown, and then again, it hadn't!

The advisor coughed, turned a delightful shade of red and spluttered to explain vacillation as opposed to the understanding that BoJo clearly did not. About pretty much anything. Ever.

Once educated, something his schooling had failed to really get a grip of unless your particular learning necessities fell into which side certain forks went and what a butler should and should not be doing during service or where best to store ones families wealth such that no awkward questions might be asked a later date. Something BoJo's mate Dave had mastered very well however clearly not as well as BoJo because questions had been asked of Dave and very few had been asked of BoJo and yet one can be pretty certain, both have similar treasures chests full of gold sovereigns squirrelled away somewhere. Except of course everybody now knew where Dave kept some of his stash but nobody was really sure where, or indeed if, BoJo had a stash and certainly no good idea where his stash was stashed should it actually exist! But those that doubt that BoJo has a stash need to immediately commit to a course of therapy and then remind themselves either before or during therapy, about the lifestyle that BoJo leads. So, in conclusion, BoJo has a stash, only BoJo knows where it is stashed and even that is questionable!

The vacillation continued. Nothing much was happening. Well, BoJo was not talking to anybody, was hiding behind a sofa in a friends house, having upset the friend by spilling wine over the sofa he was now hiding behind and most certainly was not talking to any of the press who were definitely not outside as a) they did not know he was there and b) they no longer really cared as there were far more interesting things going on down at the seaside. And, seeing as how the weather was quite nice for late September they'd all packed bags and seafront hotels and trooped off very much like a troupe! This turn of events made not much difference to BoJo as he had not got up to look out the window to check and his advisers, happy for the peace and quiet, had not informed him otherwise for fear that he might say something, to someone, anyone... and the whole can of worms would pop open again and worms would literally fly everywhere.

Almost as happy as BoJo's advisers were the bar owners and hoteliers at the seaside resort the assorted worlds press and other journalistic types were now closing in upon. They were happy mainly because they knew how the handsomely stuffed wallets, credit cards and corporate charge cards in the assorted charabancs now descending upon their resort were so stuffed that some small countries would call them a GDP, and a pretty healthy GDP too. So, happy they were and anyway, at this time, while BoJo vacillated, there were still plenty of minimum wage types to clean up all the mess the press corps left in their wake whilst chasing a story, or a sexual encounter or both, simultaneously!  And pretty much everything that gets broken can be repaired. Even hotels when certain inhabitants of a pretty big island off the west coats of Wales come over to leave gifts for the visitors, something which BoJo was not giving much thought to, although was something he certainly should be giving some thought to. Indeed, given his position, not behind the sofa but the job position he was keeping warm for somebody else, he should be giving those chaps quite some serious thought. But he wasn't. He was vacillating, although he might have stopped that for a few minutes as a spider had scuttled past him and it had given him a bit of a fright, as spiders do.

Vacillating continued. Vaseline stayed in the jar in the cabinet in the bedroom of one of BoJo's smiliest advisers, not that the two were necessarily linked.