Someone on the radio proposed a moment ago that Amy Winehouse is a cipher for our times, given her rehab, chaotic lifestyle, and recent pop-up appearance on Strictly Come Dancing. Celebritas rather than gravitas seemingly being the state we all aspire to as a nation. In effect, she represents our collective state of mind.

Such a suggestive word, cipher. Slithers like a snake through the undergrowth. Not a door stopper of word like it's near cognate, emblem, cipher goes under and around. Stealthy, but...

It's a raised eyebrow of a word too; prim, arch, certainly Victorian. I'm sure many Nineteenth century novels and tracts have a fine dusting of cipher.

To matters at hand, however. It's not that I disagree with the term nor who the radio presenter has as it's object; it's that I think there's an uber-cypher walking amongst us. It's Boris Johnson. His gurning mug, that wall-eyed, mock wodehouse whimsical face leering from every newspaper page. He's the cipher of our times.