Look, I admit it, OK? To begin with I was an out-and-out Bercowist, mainly due to the revolting midget she married who daily reduces parliament from a farce which requires considerable skill to an end-of-the-pier show which usually does not. But then, as time and the reptiles of Grub Street got to work, she became one of the many - very many! - individuals whose all too regular appearances in the media reduce the sunny disposition with which I am imbued when I return home each day from my early morning swim into a grumping, growling sulk! Sight or sound of her, or her husband, would put me into a snapping, snarling rage leading to the cat being kicked, the 'Memsahib' ordering me up to the garret and, usually, an ill-tempered blog post. But no longer!
Yesterday was the culmination of Mrs. Bercow's equivalent of the charge of the Light Brigade in which, against all advice, I would guess, she insisted on defending herself in Court against a libel charge by Lord McAlpine following a particularly, even for her, stupid tweet which implied that he was a paedophile. According to the prints this little exercise in utter futility is going to leave her £100k poorer. 'Oh dear, what a pity, never mind' are the words that instantly leap to mind. The word is that 'Mr. Midget' was dead set against her fighting this in court perhaps not least because McAlpine, gent that he is, offered easy terms to anyone who just owned up and apologised. Little 'Georgie Moonbat' was quick to accept m'Lordship's offer and paid relatively small damages and agreed to work for nothing for a year on a charity of his own choice. But 'Battling Bercow' insisted on having her day in court and whether or not she thought it was worth the hundred grand we do not know. No wonder Mr. Midget, ooops sorry, Mr. Speaker is always so bad-tempered and bossy in the House of Commons because he obviously has no authority at home!
Even so, in my usual contrary way I am slowly warming to 'la Bercow'. She adds to the gaiety of nations and if, as I gather, certain old buffers in the gentlemen's clubs of Pall Mall and St. James do, you like tough, sinewy blonds who would look good in leather with a whip in hand, then 'our Sal' is the gal for you. So from now on I will not hear a word against the, er, delightful Mrs. Bercow and the fact that she obviously drives her little midget mad only adds lustre to her shining persona in my eyes.
If they are looking for a statue to go on that empty plinth in Trafalgar Square they need look no further than 'Bercow the Bold' and here she is, courtesy of the photo in The Mail, in a suitable pose. Perhaps they could place a discreet collection box under it to assist her in paying her legal fees!
