A waste of a sunny day?

So, our unelected, unlikeable and seemingly un-bloody-removable Prime Minister has finally been dragged into the limelight. The nation waits with baited breath to hear his responses to his grilling by the 23rd annual Iraq enquiry.

But we're all wasting our time, really, aren't we? The panel, the media and the public.

Unlike Alistair 'Bad Al' Campbell, who sweated, wriggled and blustered through his session, and unlike Tony B-Liar, who squirmed, charmed and smarmed his way out of his grilling, Brown will be completely relaxed, totally unworried. For several reasons:

Firstly, one of Brown's greatest skills is to blame absolutely everyone else for absolutely everything. Nothing is ever his fault, and no bad decision was ever made with his agreement. Expect every single one of his colleagues to be blamed for some element of the process that led to war. Broon was on holiday / in another meeting / washing his hair that day, see?

It's a safe bet he'll even try to pin something on the Tories. Watch out for the unsolicited attacks on the opposition. Brown absolutely cannot resist his little digs, even if they're totally unrelated to the question he's been asked, or the subject he's discussing.  It's an 'iron-cast guarantee' that he'll, at some point, inform us that the Tories would not have done what he did, and would have done something else, and we'd have all been worse off as a result. While the panel yawns, shuffles its collective feet and wishes he'd get on with it.

Secondly, even for a politician, Brown is an expert, premier league, liar. He's completely happy to trot-out blatant porkie pies to anyone, on any occasion. He's had years of practice, and is fluent in fib, untruth and distortion. It's not clear if he actually believes all of the astonishing bollocks he trots out, but he certainly lies with complete conviction.

Thirdly, McBroon's little brain will be absolutely fucking crammed with carefully engineered soundbites, lovingly put together by armies of spin-doctors and smear-mongers. He'll have a whole raft of pre-prepared answers, responses and denials. People far smarter than him will have worked out every conceivable question he could face, and his glib, evasive response. Broon won't actually consult a script, but he may as well.

And finally, Gordo will doubtless have been fed to the back teeth by his minders with whatever his latest drug regime contains. He'll be fucking rattling with pills. His eyes will be glazed; his heart-rate slow and he will see little blue fairies hovering above the panel as they grill him.

So, Gordon Brown has nothing to fear here today, does he? His usual tools and techniques will serve him just fucking fine.

No-one will lay a glove on him; no confessions will be forthcoming; no apology will be called for or volunteered.

Why bother? It's a lovely sunny day. Let's go for a walk,  in the woods, instead ...

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