Counting down
I have to say I found this highly fitting.
So many of Tony Blair's grand declarations and pious recitations as Prime Minister have taken place in school playgrounds or assembly halls with pupils and teachers playing the role of mute, anxious bystanders. It was ironic, then, that on this day of all days, it was this particular speech that was the first to be interrupted by a bit of long overdue rabble-rousing.
It was also fun to see how the protest got straight to the point - 'Tony The Poodle' - and boasted students as young as 13 amongst its ranks.
In truth it's surely now the case that the majority of the country, from 13 to 113 (were such people in existence), are in broad agreement that the man's time is most definitely up and would be quite happy (i.e. not that bothered) were he to have told the media he was stepping down next week rather than next year.
Instead what we could be looking at now is month upon month of agonising back-biting and name-calling - more agonising, were it possible, than the kind which has been going on for the past, ooh, nine years - forming a complete distraction from the carnage in Iraq, the slaughter in Afghanistan, the tensions in the Middle East and the follies of the Anglo-American alliance. Never mind the state of this nation, replete with a population deeply ill-at-ease with itself and its ruling classes.
I sorely hope Blair will go before Christmas, not least because it will bear out the prophecy I have made several times on this blog, but also because I'm now terminally weary of finding the man's haggard yet petulant face popping up all over the place believing it's what the public want to see.
Plus I'd hate to be 13 and to have known no other Prime Minister than Tony Blair. Imagine growing up under just one PM, forever unsure if and when they will finally shuffle off the scene. But then I don't need to imagine.
So many of Tony Blair's grand declarations and pious recitations as Prime Minister have taken place in school playgrounds or assembly halls with pupils and teachers playing the role of mute, anxious bystanders. It was ironic, then, that on this day of all days, it was this particular speech that was the first to be interrupted by a bit of long overdue rabble-rousing.
It was also fun to see how the protest got straight to the point - 'Tony The Poodle' - and boasted students as young as 13 amongst its ranks.
In truth it's surely now the case that the majority of the country, from 13 to 113 (were such people in existence), are in broad agreement that the man's time is most definitely up and would be quite happy (i.e. not that bothered) were he to have told the media he was stepping down next week rather than next year.
Instead what we could be looking at now is month upon month of agonising back-biting and name-calling - more agonising, were it possible, than the kind which has been going on for the past, ooh, nine years - forming a complete distraction from the carnage in Iraq, the slaughter in Afghanistan, the tensions in the Middle East and the follies of the Anglo-American alliance. Never mind the state of this nation, replete with a population deeply ill-at-ease with itself and its ruling classes.
I sorely hope Blair will go before Christmas, not least because it will bear out the prophecy I have made several times on this blog, but also because I'm now terminally weary of finding the man's haggard yet petulant face popping up all over the place believing it's what the public want to see.
Plus I'd hate to be 13 and to have known no other Prime Minister than Tony Blair. Imagine growing up under just one PM, forever unsure if and when they will finally shuffle off the scene. But then I don't need to imagine.
posted by Alistair Myles at 8:13 pm
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