Sunday, 13 November 2011

Last of the Summer Whine

Nick who? Is he still there? If, like me, you have no idea what our supposed Deputy Prime Minister and leader of the Illiberal Autocrats is supposed to be doing for his pay packet you'd be excused for assuming he is just like any other X-Factor reject headed for rehab. Unlike foggy old Vince Cable, Clegg has never had a real job and after his trembling voice-over work for Peter Sallis dried up he was reduced to living off compo.

So low has his profile and apparent purpose sunk that he craves the sympathy of the public and has accepted the embrace of the Daily Mail in seeking help for his crazed drug addiction. Like so many before him, the former Cambridge student has fallen on rocky times and resorted to chemicals to help him not quite lead the country.

He has auspicious political antecedents; Churchill supposedly fought the Battle of Britain on a whisky-fuelled world war wampage (apologies to Elmer Fudd) and Anthony Eden was on a benzedrine  bender throughout much of the Suez crisis. A vodka-less Yeltsin would have been an unimaginable pantomime and Hitler was so wound up on amphetamines that genocide seemed the only logical distraction.

So, while  the continent totters on the edge of financial ruin, European ex-leaders hog the headlines and the two-headed Merkozy monstrosity laces up its Franco-Teutonic jack-boots, Clegg is reduced to a plea for help for his smoking addiction. What? Is he smoking crack; chasing the dragon?  No, much worse. Apparently he is getting through as many as five, yes five cigarettes a day!

Just as you, I was shocked. Appalled. As I long suspected, his envy of Cameron goes much deeper than mere throne-envy. Look at his past; he attended Westminster School.

For five fags a day he should have gone to Eton.

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