Tony still has the X-factor

I feel like I've gone back in time. We are drowning in the sticky stew of Iraq once more thanks to Chilcot. Every once in a while someone mentions that we've got a war on now and GB says he'll make another speech, but really everyone in No 10 has gone steaming back to 2003. Press Office Dave said you might as well watch Pop Idol and put the White Stripes on the stereo to complete the picture. (I'm not entirely sure who the White Stripes are, but no matter.)

All the talk, of course, is about whether GB is going to be "inquiried". Peter suggested that GB do a tactical Afghanistan trip in the week of his proposed session: "You are engaging with the real war, Gordon! Not the old war. The New War." ("Maybe we should start branding it as that," suggested New Media Lucy. "Silence," came Peter's icy wind.)

But GB is clearly anxious at the thought of being probed on Iraq. He keeps summoning meetings to discuss how he'd handle it. (I am not invited; apparently an analysis of the impact of conflict on community integration is not necessary. Come the election, they won't be able to get enough of my progressive localism agenda, but by then it will be too late. The time for localism is NOW, as I said at the Policy Unit meeting yesterday, which provoked a silence - ha! - and then a return to the discussion of spending cuts.)

Anyway, Peter says he'll do whatever it takes to keep GB out of the grisly QE2 Centre. "Over my dead body, Gordon!" (To which GB apparently wrenched a smile, but I suspect this was more thanks to the conjured image.) Peter then swept out, putting in a call to Tony (Tony!) on his way to soothe his fury about being fed to the lions.

And this is when I have to censor myself. Because Tony is being fed to the bloody lions. First Europe (would he not have been the greatest president? I mean, who is this Belgian?), now Chilcot. The reputation of the greatest prime minister this country has ever seen is on its way to being fatally tarnished.

Clearly, I say none of this out loud. I am comforted only by the weekly presence of Alastair back in the office. He comes to help GB with jokes and talking to people, and is making such a difference. Not just to GB, but to the whole office. It's become our weekly therapy session. Alastair walks in, we're sinking in gloom, and by the time he's gone we're high-fiving round the desks. But it does add to the retro feeling. I wouldn't mind being back in 2003, I must say. We'd be on our way to winning an election.