Aye,Boys Don't Cry,by The Cure. Those hazy days of the eighties when men were men,and so was our bloody Prime Minister! Can you imagine ole Maggie breaking down on national TV-all right,she did when Mark,the boy blunder,got lost in the desert,but I'm sure there was an onion or three involved-no,not a chance,and Robin Day and his ilk would never have allowed it.
Or Bernard Ingham? Tears on TV? Only from the unfortunate interviewer on receiving a pair of sore plums from Maggie's favourite bluff Yorkshireman.
So we move forward to 2010,with a more touchy-feely form of government-more answerable to the people,don't you know,so much more inclusive-and at virtually one and the same time,Gordon Brown and Alastair Campbell are putting on the waterworks. Coincidence? I think not....
With the PM,however,the subject is a very sensitive one,and I would defy any man in his position not to shed a tear;however,to have allowed the subject to be raised is at best an error of judgement. Campbell,on the other hand,I smell a rat.
This man would face down a charging elephant without blinking,take your best shot,and ask if that was the best you can do. In 16 years in frontline politics,and many years in the tabloids,he never flinched.So why now?
Why ask?
Call me cynical.com
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