Yesterday, a shadowy figure emerged from in hiding to give evidence at the Leveson Enquiry. With his big clunking fist, he lashed out at people whom he could not remember, angered by the conversations that he couldn't recall having with them.
Giving his evidence, Gordon Brown evaded giving the answer to the two most important questions that he could answer. Where on earth has he been and what has he been doing for the past two years?
Haunted by his failure to win the last general election, he seems to have largely forgotten his constituency of Kirkaldy, speaking in only two debates in the past year. No doubt the worthy citizens of Kirkaldy have become even more abject and downtrodden by the vicious, callous Tory swine, as a result of this neglect. There seems to be so many gaps in his memory that one wonders if the poor man might be suffering from early onset Alzheimer's disease. If this is so, it is clearly another case for Dr. Andy Burnham.
I like to think that he has been composing romantic poetry, full of passion and unfulfilled longing. To the skirl of his pipes, he drees his weird amongst the heather of rain lashed Rannoch Moor, with only the wild red deer and the odd cappercaillie for company.
Alas, I fear that this is not the case and as well as drawing his mp's salary and expenses, he has been giving highly paid talks in America, Nigeria and India, to fund other activities.
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