I know ...

... that I am no more than an occasional blogger, an obvious amateur, a once-in-a-while, have-a-go-blogger.

I don't think, however, that this changes what, for me, is the key point.

And this is that we are being governed by a man who is not just demonstrably demented but properly mad: self-evidently crazed, obviously certifiable, a lunatic from first to last. Loopy from the moment he wakes up to the instant he lumbers to bed.

It begs an obvious question.

Why can't this properly preposterous maniac be locked up?

It hardly sounds too much to ask.

Thugs and brutes

Watching the Great McNutter on PMQs today, I was more than ever struck by the fact that he is, properly, a thug.

He revels in whipping up his gang, strutting at their head, sneering at anyone in his way. Provided he is certain he can win, there is no playground confrontation he won't force his way into, no cheap blow he won't land, no insult he can resist hurling out.

His, first and last, is a world made real only by nastiness. How can I crush my opponents? How can I reinforce myself as the biggest bully? Who can I humiliate next?

Moral compass, anyone? An end to boom and bust? Recession, even?

Meanwhile, British political life, in thrall to McManiac's galloping sense of inadequacy and desperate need to impose himself, is reduced to a grotesque parody of schoolyard gangsterism.

Despair is the only rational response.

Has British politics ...

... ever been practised by anyone more obviously nasty than Gordon Brown?

Don't bother to send your answers on a postcard.

I am seriously thinking of starting my own one-man killer squad.

I still have a a potato gun – somewhere. Phwang! Take that, you mouldering twat. Want more, eh? Phawng again! Ha! Ha!

Die slowly Scottish lump of rotten porridge. Whang that up your haggis!

If only.

Sigh.

It defies every rational expectation that so obvious a maniac should ever have been allowed out in public at all. And now he wants us to believe he is Churchill reborn.

Cripes. Again, what have we done to deserve this?

Bad and getting badder

Well now, your old Brute, to the extent that he can be bothered to post anything at all these days, has, even at his busiest, conspicuously strayed clear of foreign affairs, the limitless horrors of Gordo McManiac's premiership, if it can properly be called that, transfixing him in horror to the extent that everything else – global financial systems disintegrating, Iran edging ever closer to nuclear weapons, the Chinese richer and nuttier than ever – has left him cold. Or at any rate coldish.

But, emboldened by a dicreet glass of sherry (and contemplating a second), the Brute would like to offer a comment or two on last night's debate between Obama and McCain.

One, sturdy Republican or not, McCain cannot hope to win with his cheeks apparently stuffed with several pairs of underpants. It isn't just the chipmunk-like swelling. It's the lisphing these barmy protuberances produce. Confidence is not inspired.

Sorry.

Ombama, meanwhile, master of properly Blair-like insincerity, voice lowered, sound-bites mastered, liberals swooning, East Coast hearts bleeding, has a wife, duly ushered onto the podium after the debate in the best gushing Sarah Brown style, who can surely only derail his march on the White House. It isn't her fault but her arse is, honestly, the biggest I have ever seen, the whole crammed into a skirt not so much under serious pressure as threatening an explosion that might instantly end all sentient life within several hundred miles. And I speak as a one-time habitue of Hammersmith's King Street shopping mall. She is packing some mighty acres of flesh under those svelte skirts. Scary stuff.

Tricky, in other words.

Wither the Free World?

Can anyone help?

Certifiable

This has been the week of Gordon! Sing his name out loud!

Here he was, a man rejunvenated, a man reborn, a man whose crazed smiles and loopy facial tics had now, at last, begun to be appreciated by the wider world. Thus stern promises were issued to spend sums of incomprehensible magnitude - none of which he had, of course – not merely to rescue the world's crumbling financial systems but single-handedly to bestow his limitless wisdom to countries great and small (except Iceland, of course) to make clear to them what has always been abundantly obvious to him: THAT ONLY GORDON KNOWS!

ONLY GORDON UNDERSTANDS! ONLY GORDON CAN SAVE US!

Oh! Undeserving world! See who has come among us! See who strides benignly among us feeble pygmies!

Were the veritable agent of death himself to reveal himself to us, it would be as nothing to the Great Gord.

Begone dwarf Cameron and your pointless toff crew!

Britain's greatest-ever chancellor, the man who BANISHED! boom and bust, has been let loose again!

In as much as ... ooh! ... a week? Gordo himself will PERSONALLY DEMAND! that we will all be allowed to eat AT LEAST! half a rat PER FAMILY! PER WEEK!

In the meantime, after personally restoring democracy to Burma, ending global warming, slashing the price of oil and giving serious thought of the VAST kind only he understands about how to change the movements of the planets, his head, currently only marginally smaller than the universe itself, will, I earnestly trust, explode with a tiny phutt and this properly vile, lying and deeply dishonest lunatic will cease to be for ever.

Oh, if only. If only. What have we done to deserve this endless punishment? Who will rid us of this crazed imbecile? That Britain – Great Britain, ha! – should be led by this bloated buffoon.

It is just too painful.

Fed up with Gordo, fed up with Mandy, fed up with ...

... well, pretty much everything.

So, a change of topic.

Next Monday, the Madrid Tennis Masters starts.

And Andy Murray will win it.

That is my prediction and that is what I am sticking with.

So, yah, booh, sucks and whang your head down the bog if you disagree.

I DON'T CARE!

You read it here first.

Why Gordo never lets you down

Amid the vast reams of comment – stunned, delighted, appalled, dismayed: take your pick – about Gordo's recall of Lord Mandy of I-Guarantee-I'll-Shaft-You-Before-You've-Even-So-Much-As-Thought-Of-Shafting-Me, a central point seems to have been missed.

Over the summer, his poll ratings plummeting, Gordo attempted to cast himself as above the daily din of Westminster trivia. His focus was on far weightier matters – climate change, African poverty, should I deem to meet Bush again? how can I wrong-foot Sarkozy? This, surely, was the stuff only mighty intellects such as his could properly contend with. Talk of in-fighting within the Labour party, to say nothing of his own imminent demise, could – must!– be dismissed as froth, day-to-day nonsenses of the sort his own immense brain was obviously beyond.

Bollocks, of course. But in his own desperate terms worth a try.

Predictably, it came to precisely nothing.

Now, with global financial Armageddon upon us, he has tried the same trick again. Gordo the Vast, he proclaims, is all that stands between us and living in caves, rooting around for so much as a shriveled berry, on good days perhaps part of a rat. His huge, frowning brow is even now being deployed non-stop to avert a catastrophe he alone can comprehend.

So, poised at this moment of political redemption, what does he do?

He brings Mandy back into the Cabinet.

Eh? At a stroke, every petty, vicious, nasty, venomous Labour internal feud is ushered centre stage again – and every attempt to portray McBigBrain as a global giant is scuppered. The daily round of Gordo's poisonous in-fighting is therefore guaranteed to resume its deadly primacy.

This isn't just stupid. It suggests a kind of death wish.

Flashman or Gladstone?

Jacquie Ashley, still desperately attempting to square her pro-Gordo instincts with the obvious realities of his catastrophic premiership, came up with what she may well have thought a wizard wheeze in her Guardian column this morning. Are the Tories more Flashman than Gladstone, she asked? – ohh! provocative, Jackie! Sounds like you may have read a history book or two. Bit of of proper context coming our way? Stand by!

She's got this 100% wrong.

Clearly, Flashman = public school thug = David Cameron = George Osborne/Boris,/Bullingdon Club/beastly hearties is an obvious enough line to take.

But who is really shoving the junior boys' heads down the bog, roasting them over the fire and, swanking around in his study, demanding that his toadies properly terrorise them?

Very, very important message to our American friends

Gordo, our well-known prime minister, stern but all-encompassing in his kindly Scottish wisdom, has explained to you trusting Americans why only he can redeem yours and the world's teetering financial systems.

I urge you to listen.

My message is simple. It is:

America awake! Gordon is among you! Only he can save you!

Be dazzled by his poll ratings! Be astounded by the fact that he has – and IS! – presiding over a mutiny in his Cabinet! Revel in his lying! Be dazed by his ineptitude! Celebrate his nastiness! Above all, be stunned by his country's level of debt – NONE OF IT ANYTHING TO DO WITH HIM AT ALL!

He is truly a colossus.

Quite a lot of his hair, even at the back, hardly sticks up at all. Even on his worst days, his trousers can't be more than six inches too long.

This is the man to follow.

If you doubt me, look at his wife. See! Little more than three stone overweight! Who needs Carla Bruni when you can have Sarah Brown? And she can use a microphone!

Gordo! Man of destiny!

Meanwhile in Burma

What a pointless experience ...

I hadn't really wanted to watch the great McNutter's 'speech of a lifetime' this afternoon. If nothing else, it was certain it would make zero difference to the inevitable fate of this hugely nasty man.

But I did nonetheless, the second half anyway.

What struck me most, amid the apparently spontaneous bursts of applause and the predictable claims that Labour (for which, in his own over-heated imagination, read G. Brown) had been responsible for every 'progressive' advance of the 20th century, was the claim that he, the Mighty McGordo McMadMan, was going to restore democracy to Burma.

This, admittedly, was mentioned only in passing, thrown off amid his other vast claims to immortality (rescuing the NHS, ending child poverty, re-defining the global banking system, etc).

But it was made nonetheless.

That McLoonyTunesGordo is currently the world's No. 1 tosser, lunatic, cretin goes without saying,

That, despite the best efforts of vast gangs of PR stylists (and God knows how much tax-payers' money), his suits always look as though they have been pinched from Howard Hughes's madder, drooling cousin and his hair cut by the loopy aunt everyone thought had been locked up years ago, is similarly beside the point. No one expects him to be anything than what he self-evidently is: a crazed, embarrassing obsessive.

That he has buggered Britain's finances in ways even Neil Kinnock couldn't have managed is no less a given.

But that he should now pose as the liberator of Burma, the stern champion of its oppressed peoples, the implacable enemy of its cruel government (socialist, by the way), the mighty defender of its human freedoms, the beetle-browed champion of its human liberties, is a great deal more than just preposterous.

It isn't just a huge, vast, immense joke. It is a giant-size affront, a grotesque parody, a laughable, sickening insult, a preening piece of nonsense, a revolting inversion of the truth.

For this one demented claim alone he deserves to be tormented for eternity.

The Burmese have been oppressed in ways we in the West can scarcely comprehend. And now, purely because he sees it as one, tiny, aid to his political survival, McBroon poses as their saviour, knowing full well there is nothing he can do to help them.

This is miles beyond shamelessness.

It is properly vile.

And this from the man who proclaims 'fairness'.

Is there a fate worse than death? I'd like to think so.

It would be no more than Brown deserved.

Let's not get excited ...

... but let's face facts.

Gordo is history, baco-foil, toasted to a crisp and beyond, washed up, gone, a tiny fragment, a footnote, an irrelevance.

Granted, he has as good as left us all bankrupt.

But I think we can take it as read that his 'legacy', so long sought, so pitifully delivered, so painfully endured, will be consigned to one of history's more obscure dustbins.

How very fitting.

Could The Daily Brute ...

... really be back?

He may be.

If only to celebrate the disintegration of Thuggo McGordo's vast and elaborate empire of inanity and corruption, as shot through with vacuous idiocy as it is inept and incompetent.

It goes without saying that McNutter is now definitively round the bend.

All that remains to be resolved is the precise moment of his final defeat.

My betting is this Friday, September 19.

I hope you will then all be able to join me in celebrating the end of the nastiest man ever to infect British politics.

He is – and always has been – properly loathsome.

Twats of the week

This is insane.

Demented, deranged, daft.

Listening

If, as we are now constantly told is the case by Gordo, his government is now 'listening', will it 'listen' to the overwhelming majority who want a referendum on the Lisbon Treaty/EU Constitution and grant a referendum?

I wish someone would put this question directly to McNutter.

David Cameron at PMQs, for example.

And one more thing. If inflation is 2.5%, how come, to quote another favourite government phrase of the moment, people are 'feeling the pinch'?

It gets better ...

This is seriously good news. And it comes, moreover, on a day of already seriously good news.

Looking a bit gloomy for McJonah.

One point that immediately leaps to mind is that if the judicial review does rule that the government must hold a referendum on the EU Constitution that, all jokes aside, can only mean curtains for Gordo. He could never survive such a set-back.

Imagine a referendum is held and, inevitably, rejects the Constitution by a vast majority. What was left of Gordo's threadbare authority would shrivel instantly. This being patently obvious, he would have to step down beforehand.

Still, this is only Round One. Long way to go yet.

What NuLab really means by 'listening'

Perhaps Gordo might like to consider adopting the Geoff 'Hearing-aid' Hoon technique at PMQs.

Downing Street: No news is good news

Struck, like so many others, by McJonah's failure to put in any media performances this morning, Heffalump Harriet wheeled out into the firing line in his place to explain why last night's local election result do not represent a precise indictment of Gordo's catastrophically inept premiership, it struck me it might be interesting to see what the No. 10 website had to say about the results.

And the answer, intriguingly, is nothing. Not a squeak. Not so much as a single word. It gives an interesting new meaning to the 'listening' the government is now so fond of.

You can read about what McNutter calls the 'real economic opportunities in the Middle East and a chance to build peace and prosperity across the region'. You read how Gordo has 'warned against a protectionist backlash' and of how 'hopeful' he is of the 'Darfur talks'. You can even see the flag of St George flying over No. 10 or 'watch footage of prime ministers from the past'.

But information of any kind on the electoral meltdown is . . . well, just not there.

Perhaps this means it didn't actually take place.

Funnily enough, there's nothing on the official Labour site either. Or on LabourHome.

Oh dear.

Who's lying?

Apologies for lack of posts. Circumstances beyond control, etc.

Yesterday at PMQs, asked quite reasonably in the light of Levy's claims that Gordo, self-professed mastermind of Labour's election victory in 2005, must have known about the loans that financed the campaign he so magnificently oversaw, Gordo, almost under his breath, could do no better than semi-mutter: 'I knew nothing about these loans'.

You can see the exchange here.

He is lying. This isn't a matter of half-truths, of shades of grey, of interpretation. What he said was a straightforward lie.

A 100%, copper-bottomed, card-carrying lie.

I can't prove this, of course. I don't have the papers, the e-mails or the evidence of the killer conversations. I wish I did.

But someone does. In fact, quite a lot of people do. Including Blair and his henchmen.

So here's a scenario. It's perfectly believable.

As Gordo lurches from catastrophe to catastrophe, Labour plummeting all the while, wiped out in London, flayed in the rest of country, the prospect of a calamitous defeat in the next General Election inescapable, 100-plus embittered Labour MPs certain to lose their seats, what do those who do know that Gordo was lying do?

They make clear to him they have the evidence that shows he lied. And then present him with two very simple choices.

Gordo either steps down on plausible grounds of ill health to allow a new leader to take over. Or the evidence of his lying is trickled out and he is destroyed for good, all credibility vapourised.

These sound like reasons for Gordo to be very scared. A watery retreat, instantly seen through, or complete humiliation.

Yet another triumph for the towering intellect that is the clunking fist.

Barmy beyond belief

Is this the No. 1 barmy news story of the year?

How can it not be?

It only begs the question whether Jonah McNutter Brown might like to give it a go, too, on behalf on the Kirk.

Only the biggest brains . . .

Picture a vast brain whirling at higher and higher speeds, neurons flashing faster and faster, connections sizzling and smoking, the whole not just on the verge of total seizure but perilously close to exploding. It's the only explanation I can come up with for this bizarre assertion yesterday at PMQs by Gordo McNutter:

Why does he [Cameron] not admit that as a result of our tax credits, which we opposed ...

Only Gordo can do this! Simultaneously propose and oppose a policy! There is nothing this giant among men cannot do!

The lady's not for turning

Gordo is though.

"I don't think I've been pushed around at all. I have never shirked from tough decisions.”

Ha! Ha! and Ha! again.

Has there ever been a more precise measure of the cowering, simpering bully than his convoluted back-track over the 10p tax rate?

Has there ever been a more precise example of just what Gordo means by 'conviction politics'?

You can understand the rush to buy his book on 'Courage'.

The Bottler on 'responsibility'

Gordon McNutter yesterday speaking – or possibly pleading – to the parliamentary Labour party:

"We can't have a Budget defeated. We have a responsibility to listen, to hear, to understand, but we also have a responsibility – all of us – to unite."

Which translated means that 'listening', 'hearing' and 'understanding' – or at any rate pretending to – are less important than party unity, which in this case means maintaining the Bottler in No. 10. That is all that counts.

So bugger the poor.

The great black hole of 2012

A Labour MP no less – note that: a Labour MP – one Don Touhig, a member of the Commons Public Accountants Committee - has called the budgeting of the 2012 games the "most catastrophic financial mismanagement in the history of the world".

The story, hardly news to those such as your humble Brute who have long been predicting that the games will be an unmitigated disaster, is here.

What is genuinely intriguing about this is why, having knowingly presented an essentially bogus budget in the first place, anyone in the government can still conceivably believe they are not now facing a financial horror show on an epic scale, one that will make the Millennium Dome seem a model of far-sighted and prudent planning, the whole of course played out in the full glare of global publicity.

If McNutter Gordo is still after a definition of the hideous new Britain he so gruesomely presides over, I suggest he might like to consider something along the lines of: When in a hole, keep on digging.

Unknown Labour MP to plead 'not guilty'

You really couldn't make it up.

It's Joe Orton gone barmy.

'The shock move comes over allegations he clambered over the bonnet of a parked van to board a city bus.'

Here are the breaking details.

Overheating Britain

On April 28 last year, the Independent printed an article by Michael McCarthy, then the paper's environment editor, under the title:

Overheating Britain: April temperatures break all records

Will this be the summer when Britain reaches 40°C and the effects of climate change are painfully brought home?

You can read it here.

It began with this statement:

'The possibility is growing that Britain in 2007 may experience a summer of unheard-of high temperatures, with the thermometer even reaching 40C, or 104F, a level never recorded in history.'

Now, as we all know, however freakishly warm last April was, the summer as a whole was anything but, as those affected by the floods in late July can testify only too well. This, of course, despite the fact that the Met. Office in January had predicted that 2007 was set to be the 'warmest on record', a fact faithfully reported by the BBC.

I write this as one of the grimmest, wettest and coldest Aprils unfolds, day after day of shivering temperatures and howling winds. And rain, Above all, lots and lots of rain. There is, moreover, if the forecasts are to be believed, no end in sight to this miserable weather.

I know it is not yet the end of the month but I have yet to read anything anywhere suggesting that these freakishly low temperatures are evidence that global warming is not happening, rather the opposite if anything.

Where is Michael McCarthy when you need him?