Horse and Carriage
by Louis Cooke

MANCHESTER, England — For the past month Britain's main political parties have been harping on about what Thursday's General Election represents — the usual rhetoric about opportunities for the country, a chance for change and progress. But for Prime Minister Tony Blair, the election is also something else: a referendum on a relationship that has lasted for eight years and at times been as warm and cozy as Arnie's performance as Mr. Freeze in Batman & Robin.

"I think a lot about my relationship with the country," Blair told his party's spring conference, back in February. "And it's not a bad idea to think of it in terms of it being like any relationship: you, the British people and me, the person you chose as your Prime Minister."

After "the euphoria" of victory, he explained, "came the steady hard slog of decision-making and delivery. And the events that tested me. And the media mood turning, and friends sometimes being lost as the big decisions mounted, and the thousand little things that irritate and grate. And then all of a sudden there you are, the British people, thinking: You're not listening. And I think: You're not hearing me. And before you know it you raise your voice. I raise mine. Some of you throw a bit of crockery.

"And now you, the British people, have to sit down and decide whether you want the relationship to continue." Mr Blair is right about the crockery and the raised voices. A lot was thrown during the build-up to the Iraq war and the subsequent inquiries into more-than-dodgy evidence dossiers, and hurled again last week, as the Attorney General's doubts about the war's legality were leaked. But people started shouting before that. They were pretty noisy when Blair broke his election promise not to introduce university top-up tuition fees. And they had been cursing under their breath for some time at Labour's sneaky "stealth taxes" — not raising income tax, as promised, but increasing National Insurance contributions.

In fact, the whole thing began to sour as soon as it became obvious that the wave of "Cool Britannia" the Labour Party created to cruise into power — victory parties at No. 10 Downing Street with rock stars! — was just a ploy to get inside the public's pants.

Naturally, Blair has tried to trivialize such actions — acknowledge and apologize for some, yes, but fob them off at the same time, lump them with "the thousand little things that irritate and grate." His success in this week's election will depend partly on how well he has convinced votes that reneging on manifesto promises, joining in on illegal wars and trying to pass laws increasingly at odds with the tradition of his party are the equivalent of leaving the toilet seat up, or farting at the dinner table, and not some more hellish domestic scenario ...

"I love you."

"But you tortured my cat!"

"I know, but I love you."

"You poured acid in its eyes!"

"Yes, but — look, I cleaned the windows and swept the driveway, and I hoovered the lounge, and I organized the spice rack alphabetically. I love you."

"You tied it to the back of the car and dragged it round the block!"

"Look, let's put the past behind us. Let's move forward. I love you. (Vote for me.)"

But the prime minister's success is also related to the quality of his opposition, and as far as potential country leaders go, the British dating pool is stagnant at this election. Neither of the opposition parties have managed to cause significant ripples in the polls, and there is no fixed-term limit to the office of prime minister to guarantee regular, new splashes. Blair might win by default. As news presenter Kirsty Young put it to him in a televised debate: "Isn't it like a marriage of convenience? The public has had a look around, seen no one else it fancies, and so it's stuck with you?"

Blair dodged the question, but it's a thought he has probably entertained. In 1997, the Labour Party used D:Ream's "Things Can Only Get Better" as their official campaign song to help oust the Tories. Eight years later, Labour's line is that without them in power, things will only get worse. "If you decide you want [Tory leader] Mr. Howard, that is your choice," Blair nagged at the Gateshead conference. "If you want to go off with [Lib Dem leader] Mr. Kennedy, that's your choice too. It all ends in the same place. A Tory Government not a Labour Government."

It's a sinister, menacing thing to say — the political equivalent of smirking, "Well, baby, whatcha gonna do about it?" after a heated domestic row. The large Labour majority in the House of Commons, along with years of feckless opposition, has allowed Blair to test the boundaries of his relationship. At every speed-bump he points to the smooth tarmac of a successful economy. Every time the public questions a turn he has taken he reassures them he's steering the country in the right direction generally: 'At least it wasn't a complete U-turn! That's what the other leaders want to do — take this country back to a town called Ruin!'

But it doesn't take Trisha, the UK's cheap Oprah-cum-Springer, to point out that successful relationships involve reciprocity, or, to use the parlance of our times, "giving 'nuff respect." Even the simplest definition of "abuse of power" would include "doing the opposite of what you said you would" and "going against the people who gave you the power in the first place." Blair probably won't need to call removal vans into Downing Street on Friday, but he's running out of political lives — even the Sun, a staunch Labour newspaper, is only giving him "One Last Chance," according to a front page from a fortnight ago.

When that chance is used up, the crockery will hit him square in the face and divorce papers will be filed.

E-mail Louis Cooke at louis at mintcake dot com.

— graphic by Derek Evernden (derek@ocellus.net)