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Gordon Brown's launch was as grim
as an undertaker's tea party
Ann Treneman
Election Sketch: The Times
Filed 07Apr10
©Ann Treneman
This article was originally published in The Times on 7th April 2010.
It is reproduced here with the kind permission of its author and of the newspaper.
It was a no-frills launch, positively Presbyterian in its austerity. Some said that Gordon Brown and his Cabinet looked just plain grim, like undertakers on a tea break. And it must be said, as they trooped out of the gleaming black door of No 10 at 10.48am, they did look as solemn as a sermon. The only thing sunny was above us, in the sky, on this lovely spring day that was troubled only by a soft breeze.
The launch cost nothing, a price Gordon can afford. The PM spoke through a mike hidden in the lapel of his Sunday best suit. His hair was (suitably) grey and newly cut, as perfect as a bowling lawn. The look of pure concentration on his face as he stood before us, the Cabinet fanned out on each side, looking like the Politburo but not as much fun, was that of a little boy desperately trying to remember his lines.
He’d just come from Buckingham Palace and the Queen had “kindly” agreed to an election on May 6. “I come from an ordinary middle-class family in an ordinary town,” he said, voice booming out on the amateur sound system rigged up in Downing Street. Helicopters whirred above.
So he’d finally done the deed. After the Election That Wasn’t in the autumn of 2007, here was the Election That Had To Be. The Politburo (sorry, Cabinet) watched, looking almost glazed. Gordon, voice tolling like a bell, said things were not as bad as they could have been. Tony Blair had Things Can Only Get Better, Gordon has Things Could Always Have Been Worse.
With every word, our spirits lowered. I knew that I’d chosen the wrong launch. For, across the river, due south, at that very moment, Dave was having a party, complete with throbbing music and happy youngsters. Dave launched early, as he couldn’t wait for Gordo to get back from the Palace. The Queen will not be amused. Still, Nick Clegg had launched even earlier, talking to some shadowy people in what appeared to be his bedroom.
So the starting gun yesterday sounded like pop (Nick), pop (Dave) and, finally, BANG (Gordo). When we were allowed out of our pews in Downing Street I raced over to see what was left of Dave’s event. But where he should have been — on the terrace, right next to the Death Trap tourist destination, directly over the Wonder Waffles stand, Big Ben in the background — there was only air. I could not scent victory, only the sickening sweet waft of waffles.
©Ann Treneman
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