Well gather round me people there's a story I'm gonna tell, about a brave young prophet, you should remember well.
Our man of the month is the alternative man of the moment, say his supporters. He goes by the name of George. Some call him “gorgeous”. And we can surely see why, his skin - taut and flushed like an orange, begging to be peeled... his balding pate - lending him a gravitas (or is that veritas) that is undercut by his wry humour, and his moustache - seemingly grown in honour of his hero S H (Sherlock Holmes - presumably) and strangely reminiscent of novelty disguises found in the cheaper kind of Christmas cracker.
Who could resist? Most of us, it seems. He's had a funny old life, and done some crazy things.
Life in the old dog
He started - an idealist, dreaming of liberation and peace for all. Dreaming of taking arms against the seas of troubles, and - by rising wet and ready to fight from the frothing waves - to end them.
So where did it all go wrong? Things went downhill when he got in with a bad crowd. He fell under the spell of a mustachio'd mister from the East and though he's since stated loud and proud that he “is not and never has been ... an oil trader” there's a slick that can't be shifted. Then there's all that money, where did it get to? His defence was clear - we've all lost the odd pound (or thousand) down the back of the sofa.
But in spite of that, his impassioned speeches have them fainting in the aisles, and blonde beauties flock to him wherever he goes, so there's life in the old dog yet it seems. Though of late he has foregone the honour and pleasure of the mother of all parliaments for the sake of the mother of all reality TV shows...
Respect! (If it's due...)
So in spite of his penchant for snuggling up to dictators, albeit in a Scottish lingo that leaves things open to interpretation, and although his finances are as transparent as tapioca, although he has an immodest love of the standing ovation, and although his greatest love remains the sound of his own voice, the curl of his moustache and the shine on his pate...let's hand it to him... RESPECT to the man is surely due. He's our George after all. Not Dubya. He's the main man of the movement. So let's stand up and sock it to him. Let's give him what he deserves, for awkward though his past may be, he is our very own Big Brother... And if we all shout at once we may just drown out his resounding self-love, and help him reach a place beyond the rabblerousing onanism of his oratory...Come on now...we have nothing to lose...