Pants refuse to catch fire

The Chilcot inquiry rumbles slowly toward its inevitable, almost certainly deeply unsatisfying conclusion.

But what fun we're having on the way!

Another Senior Civil Servant, who was 'there at the time' (so many were, so many said fuck all) has taken the chance to say what he really thinks about the loathsome and oleaginous Tony B Liar, and his conduct over the Iraq war.

This time it's Sir Ken Macdonald, Director of Public Prosecutions while Blair was (remember those days?) our Prime Minister.

Pulling no punches, Sir Ken has accused Blair of "sycophancy" towards Washington, which

"..turned his head and he couldn't resist the stage or the glamour that it gave him"

Ouch. That much was obvious to all of us. So entranced was the boy Blair that he was happy to collude with that other slack-jawed , credulous fucking imbecile, Gee Dubya Bush, to kick off a war just for the hell of it:

"Blair engaged in an alarming subterfuge with his partner George Bush and went on to mislead and cajole the British people into a deadly war they had made perfectly clear they didn't want, and on a basis that it's increasingly hard to believe even he found truly credible."

Pow! But surely, Ken, Tone has made it all good in that now-traditional Labour party statement venue, the Breakfast television sofa? He bravely went up against the terrifying, visceral political heavyweight .. err.. Fern Britton, to set straight the record, didn't he? Surely no politician unsure of his ground would volunteer for such an intense grilling?

Sir Ken is not impressed.

"This was a foreign policy disgrace of epic proportions and playing footsie on Sunday morning television does nothing to repair the damage."

Biff! So you don't completely accept his weaseling, grovelling self-justification then, Sir Ken?

"Since those sorry days we have frequently heard him repeating the self-regarding mantra that 'hand on heart, I only did what I thought was right’. But this is a narcissist's defence and self-belief is no answer to misjudgement: it is certainly no answer to death."

Crunch! Well said, Sir Ken! Get in there, boy!

Blair is due to give evidence in the New Year to the Chilcot inquiry into the war, and with so many people suddenly recovering both their memories and their tongues, he could be in for a rough ride.

To think, just a few short weeks ago there was serious talk that this nasty, oily turd was to become President of all Europe. Now it almost looks like he could be damned as the total fucking disgrace he's always been.

But he won't be, will he? This is like the end of an improbable James Bond movie. Just when you think there's no escape from the impossible situation, with heavily-armed enemies closing in from all quarters, the counter flashing frantically into single figures and the laser beam only inches from the left testicle.

You blink, reach for some more popcorn, and when you look back, James is somehow free, fifty miles away and having a shag in a bath tub floating just off Antigua.

Blair is no James Bond, much as he might like to think so.

But he's going to get away with this, somehow. The bastard.

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