In August, you rest. Few would agree more than the Prime Minister, delivered to his Tuscan palace, where the popular impression is that, Gone with the Wind style, servants will mop his brow. But as Blair struggles for sleep on fevered Italian nights, he will most likely be menaced by Women’s Institute demons and, worse, memories of a stunningly dis-respectful Question Time audience. Yes, he is on holiday and, temporarily, the living is easy; but when he returns later this month, the conference season will begin, the TUC will gather and . . . Oh! Those nightmares are teeming again . . .
Yet what Blair needs is not more friends, but some carefully chosen enemies. Political friends, as Margaret Thatcher found out, invariably disappear in crises and are of scant use to anyone. Political enemies, however, are a precious elixir, a special Chris Tarrant-inspired lifeline for the ambitious.
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