Commentators boldly mooted the possibility of a showdown. Various scenarios were investigated. We could imagine Tony, after a major attack of the tired and emotionals, having a ‘fuck it’ moment and deciding to chuck it in right there and then. That bar in
Close colleagues, none of whom are prepared to go on record, confirm that if Brown assumes the PM-ship he intends to dispense with the cabinet altogether. He will move his young family into Number 10. Number 11 will house the Treasury, which will be renamed The Money Bin. He will make all the decisions necessary for the betterment of the country alone, in quiet contemplation bouncing around on his billions, because he is so over government by focus group. Besides, everyone else is always wrong.
Brown’s statement of this afternoon was typical. He sounded important in a Marlon Brando Godfather era kind of way but managed to say nothing, perhaps by default of permanent jaw malfunction. There was endless speculation about whether a Deal or No Deal had taken place, apparently without the involvement of Noel Edmonds. One would have thought his input crucial at this time, if only to shed some light on why Tony Blair has gone inexplicably blonde.
Think of Tony Blair in the William Wallace role, except without the interest in other people at heart and with Union Jack make-up and a Rover 75 Limousine instead of blue-face and a horse. Consider Gordon Brown as Robert the Bruce - one eye on the crown, the other on the cobwebs in every corner of the last ten years. It is said that while hiding in a cave (or money bin as the case may be), Robert the Bruce was inspired by a spider – get away!! As the spider attempted to build its web and it kept collapsing, that spider just got up and started again. Robert the Bruce masterfully exclaimed, ‘if at first you don't succeed, try and try again.’ In New Labour speak this comes out as, ‘keep fucking up until it either goes right or no one cares any more’.
Begun, the Tartan Wars have.