Any Old Iron

Since he had nothing better to do today, the Glorious Successor has been posing once again with New New Labour's spiritual grandmother who, thanks to this latest gesture of Murdoch-oriented servility, is now believed by the Press Association's Journalistic Passive Omniscient to be the first living politician to have her portrait hung in 10 Downing Street. The old bag was attended by a rogue's gallery of former thugs and cronies; from Kelvin MacKenzie of the scumbag press, through the Reverend Bernard Ingham, pastor of the Congregation for Sanctification and State Funeral, to Lord Saatchi, whose firm pioneered the process of democracy as advertising campaign in which we now bask twenty-four-seven and from wall to screaming wall. Daveybloke, who believes that there is such a thing as society (it's something in which the poor have responsibilities and the powerful have rights), "was not seen entering Downing Street by the front door", presumably in case Ingham ate him for being soft on Europe; but apparently he managed to sneak in by the tradesmen's entrance. Of course this was not a portent of the future - how could you even think such a thing?