No really rain, just chuff off.

I can’t express enough, my utter delight in having all my weekend’s plans cancelled due to Britain’s bath time. Trains, planes and automobiles are all cancelled (well not so much planes, flying to London is a little excessive) and so I’m left sitting in a pool of misery (and rain).

I think there is some irony that Jack Johnson just started playing on iTunes. I bet they don’t have this bloody problem in Hawaii, at least not in mid-July.

Last night I went into Stourbridge with Will and Hardy for a couple of pints at The Talbot. I’ve not been there since it’s been redone, but much prefer it to the low-ceilinged/packed-out Lloyds bar and overly noisy Glass House, at least for the early part of a night.

I think I’ll go and sulk now.

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Not often are the words of a Muller fruit corner yoghurt commercial so true, but today that is the case.

As I contemplate the next Jammy Dodger of Fate, I can’t help but wonder how and why yesterday I was £350 richer and I had the prospect of keeping all my teeth, and today I am £350 and two-teeth less. For the first time in my life I am to have a proper dental treatment; wisdom teeth out, and my first ever filling.

I don’t know for sure, but I would assume getting to the age I am, and not ever having had a filling before is probably an achievement. I even remember kids at primary school having them, which sounds pretty strange, and at least it was probably their milk teeth (which they don’t have to wear for the rest of their lives). I could only be disappointed then, to discover I need one of those as well (a filling that is).

I sort of knew this was coming for a while. In Tibet I got a jaw ache (not like every part of your head didn’t ache at that altitude) and was told by everyone that it was a good thing I was going to India next, as the dental treatment there is very good. We even got offered the opportunity to have some done by our travel agent, Kamal, who runs a dental tourism business out there too.

On the upside (although admittedly not £350’s worth of dental treatment on the upside), I received delivery of my Moo MiniCards today. I feel not unlike Tiny Tim in the version of The Christmas Carol when he doesn’t die, although probably slightly happier, as Tiny Tim only got a couple slices of turkey, and I got 100 pieces of card with my name on.

Also a positive, on Saturday I go to London to see Swan for his birthday (happy birthday for today by the way). In an attempt to do all the catching up with people I have missed out on for months, I managed to see Gwyz and Kris last night, and hopefully tomorrow I’ll be meeting for a pint or two with Will. Such is the life of a socialite (*cough*).

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It has indeed been one week since I posted anything, and that wasn’t a resounding success as although Hamilton did get a podium, he didn’t win the thing. I won’t meddle in sport again.

Multipack yesterday was a decidedly petite affair, but Matt, Mark and myself had a good go at addressing the website issues and it was all very productive.

It’s been pretty full-on the past few days, and I’ve been really pushing to get a few projects flying. There’s still a list of things to do that goes off the end of the page (always annoying) and a pile of paperwork which I have to return to the bank.

There is also the added excitement of Mother having gone to Canada this week. She only left at 11am yesterday, but within 12 hours it had become perfectly apparent that the boys were left in charge as the evening meal wasn’t began until 10.30pm, and no shopping has been done. I don’t even want to know what state the house will be in by the end of the week.

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Come on young Hamilton , it’s Silverstone this time so let’s see another great result. It’s only been 11 years since a Brit was in pole position on the grid there, which would have made you 11 at the time, so it’s about time my advice (from one sportsman to another) is just put your bloody foot down and go for it!

(I was going to post this in the ‘Sport’ category, then I realised that I don’t have a sport category – and for good reason).

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I don’t know what the outcome of this blog post will be, but I think that due to the remarkable nature of the day, I should at least make some kind of comment.

It’s hardly a coincidence that Tony decided to depart in 2007. Notching up the big one-zero is a pretty important achievement, and he knows he’s leaving while there is still life left in the old politician yet. He’s definitely in the minority here, as most PM’s of recent times have been much more decrepit than the youthful age of 54 that Mr. Blair has bowed out at.

The whole departure seemed typically New Labour spirited. In the early days Alastair Campbell and his team of spinners served a ‘great purpose’ to The Party, but after a few years they fell out of fashion (Jo Moore sealed the deal on their eventual departure). But by the time they had packed up and gone, Tony had completed his apprenticeship, and was pretty well versed in the importance of a beaming smile.

I’ve heard him described as very good actor on many occasions, and twice again today. Combine his ability as a barrister with occasional emotional falter in the voice and he showed he could wind a powerful spell. A captivating orator who seemed to be talking genuinely, no matter what he was saying.

Of course, his departure all worked out rather well for him, but it was always going to. With months to plan the whole thing out, he was never going to make silly little errors like Edward Heath, who forgot to order a car to pick him up from the palace after handing in his resignation (after all, it’s only the current Prime Minister who gets to use the official convoy).

Had he done a John Major and left with a falling majority, people would have said he had lost his flair. Margaret Thatcher remains bitter to this day to the sort of quick and dirty ousting she got back in 1990. But whatever Blair has been blamed of, his faults and his failures were forgotten for one day as he breezed through the very congenial, if not warm, goodbye party that was PMQs. How many departing prime ministers have ever garnered a standing ovation in The House, let alone one joined by the opposition? (For the record, it’s none.)

The whole thing was beautifully orchestrated without appearing to have lifted a finger. It’s almost as though it was completely normal to happen so smoothly. Announcing his departure months in advance infuriated those who wanted to see the back of him, but after the press had had picked the carcass of the story clean, there was little they could do but sit back, cover new ground and speculate what would happen after.

And so sailed along Tony. By the time he’d named His Date the press were far too busy with the carrion of Deputy Leadership, the ‘clunking fist’ of our premier-in-waiting and the chatter over the possibility there might be an election to think about picking-on old Tony. It seemed like he was just an office-personality stepping into retirement, and you usually bake a cake for that person.

By the time Blair uttered his last words, everyone knew the man who was talking had effectively wrapped everything up and there was little left to say. Even the ever divisive issue of Iraq had been talked to boredom, and so everyone resigned to be nice to Tony as he quietly handed over his party leadership, dropped off the keys to Number 10, bid farewell to his constituents and drove off into the rosy glow of a New Labour sunset. Whether he deserved it or not, it was all very, very graceful.

But how will time judge him? Often political figures are compared and contrasted to their contemporaries and their successors. Asquith to Lloyd-George, Churchill to Atlee, Thatcher to Major – with Tony it will undoubtedly be Gordon. For the past ten years sparring between political parties has been in the featherweight class (as part of the scramble for the ‘centre ground’), and at times the ugliest battles have been fought within the ranks of the Labour Party itself.

In my view Mr Blair will, eventually, sit quite content with his position in history. The unpopularity of Iraq is going to become Brown’s issue (if he is savvy enough he will be able to brush that one off as Tony’s big mistake). The thing is that when you are fit and well and looking for another career on the world stage (for example as an envoy to the Middle East), you’ll have enough time to rewrite history pen your memoirs and forge another less divisive personality. That’s made a lot easier when your new job is one where your involvement can only reflect favourably on you.

And harking back ninety years; the man who sold peerages by the dozen, kept a wife and several mistress and thought that starting a war in the east would rally popular opinion when it did the reverse – a maverick and corrupter; Lloyd George by all regards should be disliked and condemned, but those who know about him mostly quite like the guy. The passing of time makes funny waves that can distort realities.

As for Tony, I can’t say I’d let him into my heart like quirky old LG. However, I have a feeling that if you give it twenty years, opinion will be wistfully reminiscent. Even his foreign policy, considerably flawed at times, made a critical impact in bringing peace to warring territories, got rid of a vicious regime and pushed the poverty agenda when others resisted. We’ll all be using the same rose-tinted spectacles that some people are wearing now, quarter of a century after the quelling of the Unions and the controversial tactics of the war in the Falklands.

So if you thought you’d seen the last of the Blairs, you’d be wrong. I’m fairly sure Mr and Mrs B will be around for a little longer yet; the gears of the publicity machine will take a while to wind down. And I think there is some salt to be pinched as Cherie makes the acerbic remark to the cameras, “We won’t miss you” — you can catch her exclusive documentary on the life of the PM’s wife at 9.30pm on 4 July, BBC One. Now that’s scheduling if ever I’ve seen it.

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I can’t believe it’s Monday again. Saturday evening was late-ish and not at all social (well, half a glass of red and coding ‘til it’s dark isn’t my idea of a proper party). At least I got done what needed getting done and things are progressing smoothly on that front.

Sunday was the Foley 25th year anniversary, so I chipped back to school via the Seven Stars where I met with Gwyth, Gingle, Will and Charlotte. At OSH we ran into loads of people, but I didn’t get a chance to speak to everyone I wanted to. Si, Rich, Buzz & fiancée, Olli, Baz, Henry, Steve, Ums etc etc made it a fairly big gathering. Despite my wariness of full-on reunion events, it wasn’t bad at all and I had a good day.

This afternoon I went bank-hopping, and ended up spending two hours in HSBC having a conversation in one of those little booths while my member of staff tackled all the incredibly difficult questions I had to throw at her. It seems to have paid off though, and I’m now thoroughly clued up.

Swanny seems to have been up to his usual adventures and so listening to that provided some amusement today. With the rain being so consistently annoying at the moment, being stuck indoors is my only option – so no sandwiches on the lawn with the cat this week.

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Tuesday and Wednesday made a formidable combination.

Tuesday involved clients, videos, precious metals, small dogs and very, very expensive burgers.

Wednesday involved long drives, reunions, strategy meetings, document drafting, venting, more driving and eventually some relaxing.

It’s made for a busy couple of days, but it was good to finally catch up with Currin, who is now back from the US. We worked out it has been pretty much a whole year since we saw each other last, and it really is remarkable how well our collaborations have progressed considering all communication has occurred over Skype and Google Docs.

I’m a good way through Seven Years In Tibet now. I read Palin’s Himalaya recently, and to be perfectly honest, was a bit bored by it. Not that I don’t like Palin or his style (_Sahara_ is a fantastic read), but I just never found the appeal in this one. Seven Years on the other hand, is a really great read (written with clarity, despite the strangely over-complicated preface) and I’m lapping it up.

But that’s my escape. Otherwise, it’s most certainly a time to knuckle down.

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