Saddest sight of the week: Gordon Brown toadying up to George Bush. Yuk – ‘scuse me while I throw up.
Has our Prime Minister no shame? The no-nonsense, staid, impassive, serious, sober, solid, stolid, stoic (getting the gist?) son of a Presbyterian minister giggling gooey-eyed at the United States’ thickest, dumbest, dimmest, dopiest ever dolt of a President, like some silly Jane Austen character.
Tony Blair doing his poodle impression was bad enough, but at least he was a good actor (his entire Premiership was one long performance). Poor Gordie hasn’t got a clue. I wouldn’t even trust him to do a panto dame.
He’ll have to be the narrator when I write the follow-up to Dick Whittington. It’s the story of his little-known brother Prick who goes to London to make his fortune.
David Cameron, who would give Blair a run for his money in the acting stakes, could take his pick between Prick and King Rat – but I favour the former, with his sidekick George Osborne as chief rodent.
As for the love interest, well Bush will no longer be on the scene, so Alice would have to be played by Hilary Clinton. I can’t really picture either Brown or Cameron kissing Barack Obama.
Be a cracking picture for the papers, though. Especially if tongues were involved.
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