Poor Gordon Brown. PoorGord.
I am back to feeling sorry for the man, and have to keep reminding myself of all his wrong decisions (10% tax, economic divergence, not seeing the Credit Crunch coming, endorsing the Iraq War, add your own grouches in the Comment slot). And I have to remember that he is capable (if the Americans let him, since our "deterrent" is not in fact independent at all) of giving the order to blast, crush, burn, immolate, irradiate and immiserate untold numbers of fellow human beings by actually firing Trident.
I do not hate him (unlike, it seems, most conservatives, who seem to cherish almost the same passionate feelings about Gordon that the left felt about Maggie. (Mme. Tacheur** as the French called her).
I just have to keep myself from feeling sorry for him. It must be grim to be Gordon. Once a week he has to go for his weekly ritual, the bear in the green padded cell of Westminster yapped at by all the other dogs and bitches in the kennel.
And he hasn't even got his Moral Compass. It's either mislaid, or when it does turn up it alternates between spinning wildly, or waving asthenically like the boom of an abandoned yacht in a windless Caribbean swell.
Still, it will soon be over, Gordon. Come June 2010 you will be free to write your memoirs, and in the light of catastrophic Tory economic mismanagement people will look back at you and think you were not so bad after all...
** Tache, n. Fr = Eng. stain.
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