I WONDER what Tony Blair thinks about each night between watching Coronation Street, checking his Lottery tickets and helping Cherie with the dishes?

I'll take an educated guess. He's probably wondering how the hell he can have gone from being "St Anthony of New Labour" to "That Lying Toad In Number Ten."

Even his closest allies would struggle to recall the last time Mr Blair had a good week in politics; a day even. It's been pretty much doom and gloom on the business front for aeons; I hope the domestic part is going better.

All, or most shall we say, of his current troubles concern the war with Iraq and the reasons we joined George Dubya and our cousins across the pond in Desert Storm Two. Mr Blair stands accused of, at best misleading the people of the UK; at worst telling them downright "porkies".

His political opponents, outside and those inside his own party, are like a dog with a bone. They are not going to let this one go and unless someone (say Saddam Hussain dead or alive) or something (a shedload of WMDs) turn up, Mr Blair could find himself jobless.

He'd be pretty well certain to be unemployed were there a viable alternative inside New Labour, let alone outside it. John Prescott, his deputy, carries about as much conviction as Postman Pat; Robin Cook, a brilliant orator and proven international negotiator, has the little matters of adultery and cabinet rebellion to overcome, though in some people's books those are pluses not minuses.

Gordon Brown, a tough, skilful Chancellor, may not have the charisma to hold down the top job. But then who does? Iain Duncan Smith? Leave it out. Charles Kennedy? Ditto. We could bring back William Hague. After all, he did win a nationwide poll to find whom the public rated our most honest politician, though I've always considered "honest politician" something of an oxymoron.

I don't know what's going on in Mr Blair's head. But I bet he wishes he could turn back the clock to before the so-called war of liberation with Iraq. He could give the nation a message along these lines, staring intently into the TV lens, in that earnest, familiar, you-can-trust-me style: "Look. We either go with the most powerful nation on the face of God's good earth, which helped us in two world wars, whose people speak the same language . . . or Europe. That's the French, who hate us; the Germans, who've never forgiven us for 1966; the Belgians and the Dutch who make great chocolate and cheese but whose record in war isn't overly impressive, and the Italians, whose parliamentary meetings are reminiscent of Old Time Music Hall. The Yanks are going in. Since "Nine-Eleven" you're either with or against them. Not much of a choice, is it?"

He didn't. And in not doing he alienated the 20 per cent or so of this nation still capable of positive thought. You can fool some of the people some of the time, Tony. I think you know the rest...