Sixty-five years ago my late father stood in the well of a landing craft at dawn on the 6th of June waiting to step onto Nazi occupied France. He carried a large backpack, wore a heavy helmet and was equipped with a bicycle. As were all his battalion. The bicycles were rapidly dumped in the surf, so they then had to walk from Normandy to north-west Germany.
On each D-day anniversary I scan the news footage of those elderly men in blazers and medals, looking for the distinctive headgear and cap badge that marks the comrades he landed with that day. There are fewer and fewer of them.
Whilst it's good news that the MoD are talking to veterans about funding this, their last big commemoration of that great day, Brown's presence at an event in France will add a sour note.
For these veterans who gave so much for this nation are coming to the twilight of their lives in a country they don't recognise, in which Labour have opened the door to immigrants from every corner of the world without control or restraint, where a repressive and intrusive Labour State rolls back the freedoms they fought for, where Brown's economic incompetence is beggaring their children and grandchildren and will burden their great grandchildren with the costs of his purblind folly and in which Labour have destroyed neighbourhoods, communities and the effectiveness of the little platoons in pursuance of a mad Rousseau-esque vision of an overweening Leviathan State.
For those men, Brown's presence will be every bit as much an insult as if Josef Goebbels were there.