Well, the big interview came and went. It was entirely bonkers from start to finish, but then any party political broadcast for Nude Labour these days would have to be.
Also bonkers was the ITV network being allowed to run it at all this close to the electionâ¦.craftily avoided by the Mandy-Campbell axis not as yet having persuaded the Monocular One to declare a Day of Reckoning. But there is the spirit and letter of the law and all that â and this was an hourâs free peak airtime for Labour.
Also mainly bonkers was the audience, which applauded wildly purely because Brown dismissed the âone eyed Scottish idiotâ remark as ââWell, thatâs Jeremy Clarkson, and heâs a Conservativeâ. Smart of Gordo to remember Jezzerâs name, but why applaud the dismissal of a perfectly accurate empirical observation?
At the same time, however, the PM showed the world how bonkers he is by feeling that the most telling thing about Clarkson is his likelihood of voting Conservative. He may well vote UKIP for all I know (although I doubt it): but therein lies the deranged politician, seeing every thought and action as political. Karl Marx had the same idea.
The controlling Brownbeard Sarah sat in the audience, trying not to keep one wet eye on the camera watching her watching the camera, and failing. Sarah clocked the camera in a way that suggested she had the power to look through and assess the viewersâ reactions at home. She looked very bonkers indeed.
Anyone believing the Brownshirtâs fantasy description of this chilly lady would have to be bonkers to switch votes based on it. So we must all thank God that a good 80% of Morganâs audience will either get the date wrong, or be watching a Neighbours omnibus, on election day.
Piers himself showed at last how fame has gone to his head – which used to be empty, but is now filled with grandiose self-importance. Thus he too is bonkers, as indeed he must be to have hoped heâd get away with some of the rehearsed stuff during this sixty-minute demonstration of syrup-ladling .
It started with Morgan calling him âMr Brownâ and Mr Brown answering âCall me Gordonâ. Theyâve known each other for ten years.
Next came a cringe-making attempt to reposition the PM as a sex-God. âLook at that picture Prime Ministerâ trilled the celeb-follower, âyouâre the Jagger in that shotâ. No Piers, he was the dork with long hair.
Another faded library shot showed The Student Agitator managing to remain upright. âThis is real DâArcy stuff, Gordonâ Morgan lied. âNot reallyâ Brown replied. It was one of only two occasions all evening when the Prime Minister told the truth.
The other was, without question, when Brown talked about the death of his daughter. My feeling was that the tears accounts Iâd heard in advance were exaggerated. The guy looked what he was: for all his faults, a grieving Dad. But a grieving Dad with an iota of common decency wouldnât have gone on a low-brow chat-show to garner votes over the dead body of his child. And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is why Gordon really is utterly and irredeemably bonkers.
On and on it went. The Blair victory in â94 (âI got over it pretty quicklyâ), the ousting of Blair (âIt had to be Tonyâs decision, I left it up to himâ) and then of course an interview with the Great Betrayer himself (âGordonâs at his best when heâs being authenticâ) â quite right, Tony â and as heâs never authentic, heâs always crap.
Aah, the putrid pong of spin, lies and deception being offered by the deranged of a Sunday night. Produced and directed â naturally – by Alistair Campbell.
This too makes sense: after his panic attack on Marr a week ago, Chemical Ali is inadvertently going public with his bonkers problem. Itâs been on the cards for some time: of late Campbellâs been doing interviews saying he likes Gordon, has âissuesâ with media superficiality, and how too many politicians are counterfeit. To see a grown man with no memory of his past is a sad thing indeed. Still, it couldnât happen to a nicer bloke.