Last week saw Piety Blair give his last speech to the Labour party as Prime Minister.
It should have been a defining moment in his premiership, a point when the egomania, lies and contempt finally reached the apex that seemed to have threatened for so long. We should have seen a man struggling desperately to convince his own party of a ridiculous and fantastical legacy, that of a successful term in public office, untainted by the charges of cronyism, celebrity and deceit.
Instead we were exposed to a grandiose production aimed at avoiding the rightful shame of his predecessors, the Widow’s tears of self pity, or Major’s well overdue humiliation. A cynical final act, timed at his own discretion to ensure the legacy remains untainted for precious Euan and Leo. The all important, legacy.
While he accepts smiles from the sheltered fool Judas of New Labour, self satisfied celebrities take a turn at the mic of self righteousness. The fact that he can happily accept a standing ovation from this, the oily sycophant hell of his own creating, and does so without any sense of irony or humour, makes for a strangely bizarre spectacle.
Somehow the adverts for Zippo’s Circus on Peckham Rye spring to mind, with the clownish insanity of self delusion seeming strangely relevant. This brings me to my headmaster from primary school, neither a clown or self delusional, but a funny and fairly decent bloke who seemed to be permanently playing a small guitar. His name was Mr Atkins. After one of our daily bouts of showing off made him finally lose his rag, he’d leap up and down like Basil Faulty with his arms stretched up high shouting in a terrifying high pitched voice, “Me! Me! Meeeeee! It’s all about Meeeeee!”.
As I watch Piety collect accolades from the self importance of party politics, I can’t help but imagine Mr Atkins comically losing his rag in the front row. Leaping up and down in his trusty brown suit shrieking at the top of his voice.
“Me!! Me!! Meeeeeee!!! It’s all about ME and my legacy isn’t it Piety?!”