I predict that every week on This Week Diane Abbot and Michael Portillo will make ominous noises that next week will be the week when Blair's pigeons come home to roost and he'll be in serious trouble. I predict they'll predict that each week, until the end of time or whenever he walks out of the front door for the final time, to a glowing encomium from the BBC.
Other than that, nothing much will change. The pseudo debate over immigration will continue, the Daily Mail will still rant, the slow erosion of civil liberties will carry on, it'll remain uncomfortable being a Muslim and next summer will be yet more hotter and longer than the last, meaning my girlfriend will be employed overtime with a pint glass and a postcard in order to remove even larger spiders from the flat. The Westminster media circle jerk will carry on, with Nick Robinson excitedly telling us that the scuttlebutt in the corridors is that Jack's pissed off with Hazel, 'cos Hazel gave him the dead eye and there'll be hell to pay in the morning if Tony finds out, and assorted media types will scratch their heads and wonder why newspaper circulations continue to fall.
