The odd couple: Inside Carrie and Boris Johnson’s everyday ‘unleashed’ reality

Recently Carrie Johnson took to Instagram to share a few pictures from their recent holiday in Greece. The family – she, her three children and husband, Boris – are having a jolly old time. A sunkissed carefree Carrie poses on boats and in bikinis, their three blonde thatched children cosy up to their dad.

Their group of friends all wave for the camera from the sea; there are kayaks and copious sunsets. In a couples' picture with Carrie, Boris wears a T-shirt and all the elegance of a man who's just ordered two-for-one cocktails from a laminated menu.

Anyone who has been following Carrie Johnson on social media will be all too familiar. All year her feed has been a square-by-square soliloquy of life in the Johnson family: selfies in the south of France, sandy beaches in Sardinia; a few days in Hollywood here, a short stay in Morocco there. In July the pair attended the "wedding of the year", a £250m celebration for the marriage of Anant Ambani, the son of India's richest man, and pharmaceutical heiress Radhika Merchant.

Of course, Carrie took to Instagram to record it for posterity, and for her audience of almost 100,000 followers. The glamorous 36-year-old sparkled in glittering, bejewelled two-piece gowns, and 60-year-old Boris cut a shambolic figure in an ill-fitting, creased kurta, buttons hanging on for dear life.

There is no escaping that they're a particularly odd pairing. She's popular and well-liked by her wide group of loyal friends, even by her ex-boyfriend, Harry Cole, the political editor of The Sun, according to Tatler; he's criticised even by his own children.

And this week, we're a world away from Carrie's sundrenched mumfluencer image of daily life . Boris' memoir is about to be released – or, more aptly, Unleashed – with extracts being eked out and appropriately stirring up the press. Headlines are gathering around his various claims: that everyone from pesky "lefty journalists" to Sue Gray, when writing her Partygate report, was out to get him; over the former government's consideration of an "aquatic raid" on the Netherlands to obtain the Covid vaccine and Boris' grave underestimation of the pandemic. Hardly new information there, then.

So far Unleashed has unearthed some wild stories – Boris being stuck in open water on a kayak from Argos in the Highlands during a trip with Carrie in 2020, for one – and provoked some fittingly cutting responses. "If nothing else, and there really is very little else to be said for it," The Independent's Sean O'Grady wrote this week , " Boris Johnson 's memoir, Unleashed, proves that this man really was, and indeed still is, the most shameless charlatan ever to flit across the British political scene." In The Times, Caitlin Moran proclaimed him to be a "gossipy b***" with "the physique of a Womble".

The real revelations that were hoped for – an explanation for the absolute failure to deliver anything on Brexit, his thoughts on the Conservative Party's future – are not expected to materialise. Nor are the truly gossipy ones. Like Boris' "Cash for curtains" scandal, an estimated £200,000 renovation of his Downing Street flat, used in part for "gold wallpaper" allegedly costing £840 a roll – or his family life, offline. Indeed, if you are looking for any revelations at all about his relationship you will be disappointed. It seems that Boris was firmly on the leash when writing in detail about his wife.

The relationship between Boris and Carrie has always attracted more attention than most, not least for their very obvious age gap. Symonds joined the Conservative party aged 21 in 2009, and began campaigning for Boris in the London Conservative mayoral election a year later, being consistently promoted from thereon in. By 2018, when she was 29, she'd become head of communications for the Tory party.

The same year, Boris' wife of 25 years, Marina Wheeler, with whom he shares four children, reportedly "kicked him out" of the marital home. Carrie left her job in politics to work for ocean conservation company Oceana later that year, too.

It's not until 2019 that the rumours of the pair's relationship begin to really surface. And, back then, it wasn't always beach selfies and trips to the zoo, as their latest public personal purveys. That year, police were called round to the flat that they shared in Camberwell after concerned neighbours called 999. They'd heard a "loud altercation" between the two, involving "screaming, shouting and banging".

According to recordings taken outside the flat by a neighbour at the time, which were obtained by The Guardian, at one point, Carrie could be heard telling Johnson to "get off me", and "get out of my flat", while Boris told his then-girlfriend to "get off my laptop".

The neighbour who called the police, Tom Penn, later came forward to say that, while police confirmed that no one had been harmed during the altercation, he felt "it is reasonable for someone who is likely to become our next prime minister to be held accountable for all of their words, actions and behaviours".

Unsurprisingly the incident isn't addressed in his memoirs, rather it's been long since forgotten – or merely lumped in with the litany of other criticisms of Boris, whose Wikipedia page claims has "seven or more" children.

By February the following year, a month before then prime minister Boris caught Covid, Carrie's Instagram announced that they were engaged and expecting their first child – soon to be Wilfred Lawrie Nicholas Johnson – and in May 2020 Carrie officially became the third woman to marry Boris, in a "small ceremony" at Westminster Cathedral.

Carrie's presence at Downing Street didn't go unnoticed, and nor did she shy away from the limelight. In 2020 she took part in virtual fundraisers for LGBT+ Conservative candidates, even persuading Boris to make a short appearance. Her more liberal view earned her the nickname "Princess Nut-Nut" from the likes of Dominic Cummings – who Boris blames for his downfall as prime minister – and his followers; quickly she was the subject of sexist assumptions and slurs.

Increasingly, she was deemed the real "management" of No 10. In his book First Lady: Intrigue at the Court of Carrie and Boris Johnson, released in 2022, Tory peer Lord Ashcroft insinuated Carrie's power at Downing Street and over Boris was preventing him from governing Britain correctly. At the time Carrie said she was the victim of a "brutal briefing campaign".

The consensus was that Ashcroft's claim was decidedly unlikely – and played into one of the oldest misogynistic tropes in the book, that women at the side of powerful men should be dutiful and passive. Carrie's political career way before she met Boris was a threat. Actually, power and influence is in Carrie's blood.

Her father, Matthew Symonds, was "very bright" and "competitive" in his journalism heyday; a "long-haired, cuban-heeled, slightly shifty-looking" fellow, one acquaintance remembers.

In 1986 he co-founded The Independent, having already worked for the Mirror group and The Daily Telegraph, where he was the economics leader writer. Carrie's grandparents were equally prominent in the media: John Beavan worked as the London editor of The Guardian, before becoming a Labour MEP; her grandmother, Anne Symonds, worked for the BBC World Service.

While Carrie undoubtedly influenced her husband when they were in power, her influence – now as a popular, stylish mum, quietly working on his family man image on Instagram – is different, but still there. In her comments section, among the endless requests for details on her latest bikini and assertions that "Boris is well punching", others are glad to see him "resting up for his return to politics".

But could this new Instagram profile do him favours if the rumours that he wants a second shot at leadership are true? The image curated carefully by his wife is certainly showing him in a different light from the shambolic charlatan we remember him as when in power. She does have some influence over him cleaning up his act, reportedly getting him to stop drinking during his election campaign, and even convincing him to (briefly) try going vegan.

Under Carrie's careful curation, Boris has undergone another image overhaul, one square at a time, as the beach-loving, kid-carrying, kayaking dad, still rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous. The holiday might be over, but Boris is back soaking up the spotlight trying to divert our attention from the extreme damage and hurt he brought to our country.

His memoir is yet another attempt to manipulate his own narrative – to paint himself as "too good for his own good"; a "shameless, sour, predictable, self-exculpatory" text, says O'Grady – full of wild exaggeration and self-aggrandising stories. Ironically fitting for self-promotion platform Instagram, then, which seems to be the only place it's not mentioned.

While Boris promotes the memoir, Carrie has been tight-lipped about Unleashed. Still, no doubt she'll continue holding up the family fort on social media, posting stories about Baby Boden jumpers, providing the levity to prop him up. And those of us following with morbid fascination will still be glued to her updates, to see if the most slippery man in politics can somehow, despite his despicable history, still get likes.