As I sip my pre-dawn tea, my thoughts are on our beleaguered Prime Minister.
I see the dour Scot looking even more dour as, with his mighty shoulders drooping, he imagines the scathing headlines if Labour loses the Nantwich by-election today.
The election, brought about by the untimely death of the bullish blonde babe Gwyneth Dunwoody, couldn't have come at a more inopportune time for Labour. Limping behind in the polls and swallowing a succession of vitriolic attacks by Madam Blair and Mr Prescott, Brown has been left bloodied and rather out of it.
Meanwhile the light of Conservative leader Mr Cameron has gone from strength to strength, from a tiny twinkling fairy light to a massive footie floodlight. All eyes are now upon the old Etonian.
But what about poor old Gordo.
Where did it all go wrong?
I think it all went pear shaped for him after the death of John Smith in May 1994.
He should have fought harder and longer and smiled a lot more, after all he was up against the flair, panache and talents of the ambitious, hungry, star-in-waiting, Mr Tony Blair.
And the consequent crowning of Blair as leader put the big Scot in his place. His place playing second fiddle to Blair. It's rather sad and kind of pathetic that a man of Browns 'towering' intellect was always destined to play understudy to the Larry Olivier of politics, and therefore never winning any accolades, gongs or friends.
But we'll see what he's really made of in the early hours of tomorrow morning when the results start coming in.
If the voters of Nantwich decide to smack Labour in the mouth on account of the ten pence tax thing, then I can only see more and more vultures circling and salivating over the fabulous bushy hair of the handsome understudy.
My tea has gone cold.
