Chief Whips are not chosen for their sunny and helpful dispositions, humility, gentleness or Christian passivity. Neither are they renowned for their gentility of manner or general air of human forgiveness. The qualities a party leader generally looks for in his Chief Whip are not distant from those displayed by the fictional Malcolm Tucker; he must be an outgoing bastard not afraid to threaten, seize by the testicles, blackmail, bully, hound, plague and torment the party's backbenchers. Whips know which MPs are shagging persons other than their spouses, which are closet inverts, and which have their Dolphin Square apartments rigged with rubber, leather and the paraphernalia of deviant sexual habits.
Mitchell's efforts at self-rehabilitation this week are therefore becoming a little risible; he's over-egged the wronged innocent to the extent that he's actually lost credibility. That sick-making kiss inflicted upon a young WPC was followed by leaked accounts from 'friends' at his disappointment that Cameron did not fully back him, and now a lachrymose and self-indulgent account in the ST today detailing his martyrdom at the hands of Plod. It's all just too much.
The likely story is that Mitchell is a foul-mouthed little haemorrhoid with a short fuse who swore and cavilled when refused the use of Downing Street's main gate; this may not have included the words 'pleb' or 'moron', but was undoubtedly sufficiently offensive to upset Plod's own inflated self-importance.
The whole incident could have been dealt with by a Willy calling them both in for a bollocking in the Cabinet Office and that would have been the end of it. Unlike Thatcher, Cameron doesn't have a Willy and a bollocking from Cameron would have all the force of a severe reprimand from Sergeant Wilson, beside it being inappropriate for a PM to do himself.
The way this thing is going has all the elements of mutually assured destruction.