Mr Cameron's eerily spotless complexion out shone the others.
His golden face illuminated like a Fra Angelico painting. He was almost radiant. Make-up is marvellous isn't it? And so is the thought of power.
But it was more than just perfectly applied concealer and a well cut suit, he looked Prime Minister material. At last. Although between you and me I feel that beneath the Bullingham club old sort lies a dirty rough boy who's hiding substances in his draws and an electric guitar in his bike shed.
In comparison milky Cleggy looked like a young sandal wearing teacher giving hope to kids in an inner city school. He means well does Clegg but there's something vegetarian about him, something weedy and worthy. I'm sure he means well but he's young and foolish and obviously isn't listening to the likes of Mrs Duffy and millions of others...His amnesty ideas surely doing damage to the man who would be prince..
Stouty Browny acted, but the gruff, moody, surly man was never far away. His terrible smile at the end making me wonder if he was really fit for high office. To hold power one must grab an audience by the throat and then kiss and lick it. Brown is not a licker. He doesn't know how to please neither does he leave punters wanting, clapping and then wanting more, unlike the very smooth Mr Blair, whose acting ability was second to none.
I think the Labour party have a hell of a task ahead not only trying to convince me and others that they deserve my X but they also need to decide whether or not to keep Mr Brown.. Methinks that whatever the outcome of the General Election men and woman behind the scenes are plotting to gag and bag Mr Brown. Gag and bag remember where you heard it first. And if that does come to pass I feel this blog will bulge with posts about possible replacements.
But back to the programme.
It was a good show, David Dimblebum holding court with the dusty panache of a magistrate. The audience were too well behaved though for my liking I've always wanted to see a bit more cut and thrust from LIVE debates. You know the kind of thing, like when John Wilkes Booth leapt onto the stage breaking his ankle...
I wouldn't want anyone important to get hurt but the idea of one of the electorate losing their rag due to Mr Brown's policies would be televised political theatre at its best.
So to sum up:
Last night...
Mr Cameron seemed to have taken something, possibly 100 mg of Brown's Bigot gaffe. He was a new man last night.
Mr Clegg had probably sipped a glass of kelp tea.
And Mr Brown was sore with self-inflicted thrashings.
I loved it.
Today Eco Man Nick was in Leicester talking to a bunch of students. Cool.
Miserablist Gordon was in Hockley unveiling ludicrous posters. I stood still, teacup in hand wondering which Aide came up with the idea. The posters of desperation.I hated them.
Meanwhile Nice Dave crouched down in front of a load of kids. They don't know you David I said. Go chat up their mums.
In other news....I see Fulham F.C. are doing well. My mum used to clean their offices you know.
and
I spoke to a man engaged in drain pipe analysis.
