Praise be

Monday September 25, 2006

Today, in the Blair fest, it was Gordon Brown’s turn to add to the momentum of the Exit of Blair process, and to rescue his own claim to be the obvious successor.

I don’t know about that. Brown has been the most successful Chancellor in modern times, and deserves full credit for that. Blair has been the most successful Prime Minister in recent times, and deserves full credit for that. He completely fumbled his exit, though, and has stayed too long since for his or our comfort. They made a great team, and in terms of results, of generating increased prosperity and stability, it’s hard to find a better example. Blair’s record as war leader, tragically, leaves less room for praise.

But Brown as the obvious successor? We shall see. For myself, as he delivered his speech today, I seemed to hear his voice echoing from the future, borrowing a well-turned phrase from another famous obvious successor: “Hi. My name is Gordon Brown. I used to be the next Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.”

Just so long as the successor, whoever he or she may be, manages to keep the Tories out of government, I shall be content. The rest of our problems and challenges fade almost into insignificance beside that one and will, I feel sure, tend to take care of themselves under the momentum generated by the Blair/Brown partnership.

I didn’t spend too much time following the circus today, though. Graham was home, and Graham doesn’t do politics. Loathes them all, he does, with a fury, and come election times, he tends to vote for the ‘you are none of you worthy’ party.

“I hope you’re not going to spend the whole day watching that lot,” he said as I snapped the TV off.

“Nope. I have all the time in the world to watch TV when you’re not here. What’s the plan for today?”

“Feet up. I’m worn out.”

“Well, if anyone’s earned a rest day, you have. Could you fancy porridge for your breakfast?”

“Mmmm… porridge!”

He is in fact quite worn out. It’s been a tough season at the holiday club and the combination of that and our house hunting and moving-in would have broken a lesser man. Just one day’s rest, though, and he was bouncing along merrily.

“I could do with another couple of days of this,” he said as we motored over to St Audries to return him to his job.

“Just hang on. You’ll be home again tomorrow night, have all day Wednesday and most of the day Thursday to rest up, and then there’ll be only another week to go.”

“Praise be.”


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