From Tony's messianic beam to Gordon's grimace-and-
bear-it, writes Atticus, it’s been a long road...

If only a smile and carefully worded conceit could wash all the world’s problems away. Tony’s Triumph and Cool Britannia, all Jack Nicholson-wide beams and golden hellos, seems another universe away. A naïve time, you might think, or perhaps the strength of hope over adversity. But no, just the species’ friend: its dogged inability to learn from history.

The rot set in all too soon. It was horrible to watch TB’s decline at the grips of both zealot’s fervour and TKB ("Tony Knows Best"), until he was finished off by a recurring bout of egotism (he’d been a sufferer since childhood). It was the ever-present smile, trying to convince us that he was well and all was well in the world, that I truly found difficult to stomach. The visions behind his eyes, never to make it into reality… All we are left with, imprinted on our retinas, is his rictus grin.

But, no, there’s more! A new era is in full funereal procession, and, leading the way, Gord mustering his finest making-the-best-of-it, scaring-the-babies face. A much more somber affair – but when’s the wake going to be?