I love Boris. Just the sight of him makes me happy. Yet even when he was editor of and I was a weekly columnist, I was frustrated by only minimal access, as were all his devoted staff and, indeed, his and petitioners, who, his secretary Ann Sindall complained, sent 40 emails a day, each of them wanting 'a bit of Boris'.
Sindall acted as Cerberus so the colossus could get on with his massive projects. And then there is his reading. Once, on a holiday where all the Johnson siblings and their children were gathered together for a beach barbecue, I noted that only Boris was missing.
Where was he? Hiding behind a rock at the end of the beach, engrossed in Roman history. Rachel is just as dynamic – she can run and walk for miles, uphill as well (with an obedient dog in her wake). She can play men at tennis and swim around islands and read taxing volumes and write books quickly and make triple-word scores with every round of Scrabble.
Moreover, she's also reliable and responsible. Some women bristle at Rachel's competitiveness, but my relationship with her is entirely harmonious since she would clearly win every conceivable contest she could enter against me, so there is nothing to compete over. Boris and Rachel also have a tall, dark and handsome brother, Leo, now a television presenter on BBC World and an eco-entrepreneur.
He is married to an Afghan woman, and both members of this couple are happy to tell hilariously self-deprecating stories. The youngest is Jo Johnson, formerly.
