David Cameron was angry today, but the anger he exhibited was only a fraction of the anger I felt at this bankrupt and corrupt government; as Gordon Brown wore his now-familiar coprophage rictus grin, Cameron rightly shredded the deceit, pretence and lies behind this travesty of a budget by a travesty of a government. The dummies and puppets on the government benches, gloomy at the prospect of swapping their voracious troughing at the taxpayer's expense for doing an actual job of work come next year, failed even to flex their unexercised diaphragms to jeer; they know only too well that Cameron's words rang with truth.
Whilst Gordon Brown retreats ever further into some secret place inside his head, the face he presents to the world grows ever more bizarre. Not only the coprophage grin, but an infantile contraction into a foetal position on the Treasury benches, which the BBC camera captured. Perhaps the truth is penetrating even the formidable mental barriers that Brown has erected inside his head; that he has crushed, desolated, ravaged and plundered the British economy for short-term political gain, risible social engineering experiments and the imbecilic whims of third-rate ministers, and now the people of Britain are to pay the price.
These vile despoilers persist in the lie even at the eleventh hour; not a contraction of 3.5% of GDP, as Darling's phony figures forecast, but 4.1% according to the IMF. Not growth, but continued hardship, pain, struggle and angst for the people of Britain; a legacy of debt for our grandchildren and our nation's potentials ground in the midden of Labour's gross misrule.
As I watched those fat complacent faces, those vacant eyes dead as a mackerel's, those pasty sweating chins today on the Treasury benches, with Brown curled in his foetal comfort position, Balls tense with the fear of an ice-pick in his skull from the bench behind, Straw's porcine features distorted in alarm it reminded me of nothing more than the expression on the faces of the row of defendants in the dock at Nuremberg as prosecutors played footage of the extermination camps. The denial, the lies, the spin, the falsification could no longer hide the truth of the appalling reality of this government's malicious failure and negligence.
I would fling the whole foetid cabal into the darkest, dampest and deepest of dungeons, clothe them in vomit-encrusted alkies' rags and feed them on rancid minced turkey-skin for all eternity if I had a choice. I would put them to tramp in enforced silence on the treadmill. I would have them sew mailsacks or pick oakum until their fingers bled. I would have them sleep on straw palliases crawling with vermin. No, Cameron wasn't quite as angry as I was - but he came close;