So much doom and gloom around in the blogs this morning. The media are no more of cheer.
I, however, in my usual contrary way, find plenty to cheer me.
Whilst for months there have been jokes about a hung parliament â as in MPs hanging with a rope around their neck, I have always felt that this was too swift and painless a death for a man such as Gordon Brown who has presided over the destruction of Britain.
Nor was the opportunity to snipe and gripe from the sidelines as Leader of the Opposition a suitable punishment for his crimes.
No, I much prefer his present predicament; it is skilfully designed to bleed him, drop by drop, to a humiliating near-death experience, followed by a life sentence of solitary confinement within his own ego.
Think about it. A man who has spent 13 years playing with the levers of power, both behind the back of the puppet Blair Prime Minister and in his own unelected right as Prime Minister, has been shackled to the public stocks.
His party are fighting like starving rats behind his back, as MPs they are devoid of all expenses, all privileges, all power. They cannot jeer in parliament, there is no parliament. They cannot swan off to foreign climes on fact finding missions, they are utterly neutered. And angry, very angry. At least if he had lost they could have crowded into the chambers and vent their spleen on the party in power.
His Ministers retain their official cars and ministerial offices. They arrive each morning and drum their fingers on their desk. Our Vera will be spending her time making appointments to have her roots touched up, the civil service will not let them tinker with legislation any longer.
No longer does the civil service issue a stream of press reports of a million here, a billion there, to the constituencies of ill humoured MPs. It is silent.
His own party ensured that there could not be an election to appoint a new leader without the conference that will be held in the autumn. No release from the shackles there.
The Queen must remain absolutely above politics; she cannot âchooseâ his successor. He cannot resign until it is clear who his successor would be. Then he must recommend them to the Queen.
âThe popular myth is that the prime minister loses office if his party is defeated in a general election, but that is not the position,â said Robin Butler, who was Heathâs private secretary in February 1974. âThe prime minister remains prime minister until he cannot command a majority in Parliament and somebody else can.â
The media openly mock him, themselves released from fear of the âruling partyâ. âHe didnât lose the electionâ lisps Mandelson. âHe didnât win eitherâ retorts the media.
His only hope of freedom lies with a man he has sidelined and dismissed for years. If he sells his soul, if his party will allow him to sell his soul, to the insignificant leader of the receptacle of disillusioned Labour and Tory voters, then possibly, just possibly, he might be able to see a chink of light at the end of his tunnel.
That chink of light will be the opportunity to sit in cabinet once more, but with strange bedfellows in key positions. No longer can he demand collective responsibility, civil service rules demand that Ministers from supporting parties are only bound by collective responsibility in respect of their own portfolios. He wonât be able to shuffle them around, threaten them with the sack if they donât do his bidding.
On Sunday his Chancellor will fly to Brussels to nod politely at a scheme which will see Britain lumbered with 10% of the cost of default by any Eurozone country which fails to repay a loan â they cannot object, Britainâs veto has been removed for the occasion. Humiliation was heaped upon humiliation when it was revealed that Gordon Brown was the last to be told of this done deal.
Powerless, beleaguered, restrained, enfeebled, sterile, impotent, impatiently drumming his bitten fingernails on the desk, he cannot escape.
You could not dream up a more tortuous end for the man who believed he âsaved the worldâ. Waiting for the flibbertigibbet leader of the sandal clad Sandinistas to make their mind up whether they will agree to take Trident away from him or the Tories.
It is the modern equivalent of the village stocks. Shackled for our enjoyment. Perfect.
Enjoy it whilst it lasts.
- Tweets that mention Gordon the Impotent. — Topsy.com
- May 11, 2010 at 11:11
- Spoke too soon Anonymong
- May 11, 2010 at 14:00