A Diary Entry.
Machiavelli is a hero of Brown's for sure. The latter's political cunning is legendary as is his temper tantrums.
Chequers. Cripes, if walls had bleeding ears, what! I geared up the spin machine for the Obamafest there. Sadly not as good as I should have. Still my charm and statesman like pose at the "pool shower" was good, I thought.
Then there was the discussion about how I'm getting to be blamed for selling gold, ruining pensions, busting banks and so on. Bastard public. Well, I said to Alistair over brandy, if the Obama arse licking fails we must do something to divert this economic apology shit. Something really deep and for me to grandstand my real Premiership credentials. You know, Ally, like Tone did with The NI peace crap.
Bugger me, after coming back from my spiritual home in America and those "oh to die for" boy scouts, he's gone and done a Kelly. Still I only hinted, like Tone, do something. I never realised Ally has such close friends in the security business still. Then I remembered he'd cornered the market on private security contracts.
Well, I'm over the moon. Bit of a shock at first but then the brilliance of the plan washed over me more than that pool shower did. Of course this could all be my imagination. Still whatever, no more economy shit for weeks. Off to fly out of Northolt, masses of cheering crowds, TV, the full monte. God I loved that film of those oldies, lefties, not righties, too. Shame they weren't a lot younger.
I will have to check with Alistair or Dolly when I get back but for the moment, dear diary, I have a public to seduce. G20 summit. Pah, this will knock socks of that jamboree, aye it will that. I'm so, so happy I'm going for a jolly good rock, might even change my nappy. That Populus poll tomorrow will be my big, big, bounce. Election after all, may not need The Glenrothes plan either. Now, where is Northern Ireland?
p.s. The picture on the left is NOT Alistair Campbell in fancy dress.