I occasionally have to tell cancer patients that they have an incurable condition, but that there are ways to manage their disease, so they can cope and minimise their suffering. That’s the way The Knife feels about Alastair Campbell.
Most sane people had hoped that post election defeat, evil Al would have retired semi-gracefully to a life of crap memoirs, talk shows and showing off. Well, it’s sort of worked out. He’s doing all that, but remains as the only Voice of Labour for half of the media.
It’s not a matter of personal hatred. I loathed Brown not because he threw mobiles at me – we never met, sadly – but because he wrecked the economy, amongst other crimes. Likewise Campbell is revolting because of his malign influence on the political process, his disdain for democracy, and the Iraq lies. He actually showed great personal kindness to a friend of mine, disappointingly.
But he’s not going away. The Knife has reached the conclusion that instead of moaning about him, we should instead celebrate his vanity and sneering egomania, the laughably poor diaries (JP said to GB that TB…etc etc), his blokey sexism coupled with frankly homo-erotic outbursts, and his soaked sentimentalism (“my children…” on QT last week). This has the potential to be a reliable source of unwitting entertainment in the next few years.
Addendum: Clearly Suzanne Moore also has a Campbelloma. Incurable..