Fucking Crazy Bastard

In his own eyes, the publication of his 700-page memoir today marks Tony Blair’s re-entry into the British political debate after a period of self-imposed silence.

Click the link to read a fucking long interview in the Guardian. Here’s a taste:

Those who turn first to the sections in the book on Iraq will discover a largely familiar account topped by Blair’s most personal justification yet for the single most controversial decision he made as prime minister.

But they will find no apologies for the policy itself. “I don’t seek agreement,” he writes. “I seek merely an understanding that the arguments for and against were and remain more balanced than conventional wisdom suggests.”

He writes that he felt “sick, a mixture of anger and anguish” when he was asked by the Iraq inquiry chair, Sir John Chilcot, in January if had regrets over Iraq. “Do they really suppose I don’t care, don’t feel, don’t regret with every fibre of my being the loss of those who died?” he writes.

Does he regret licking George W. Bush’s arse I wonder? Fucking crazy bastard.

Tony Blair tells how he and Cherie shared an intense night together as he was contemplating standing for the Labour leadership after John Smith’s death. He writes:

That night she cradled me in her arms and soothed me, told me what I needed to be told; strengthened me; made me feel that what I was about to do was right. I had no doubt that I had to go for it, but I needed the reassurance and, above all, the emotional ballast. On that night of 12 May 1994, I needed that love that Cherie gave me, selfishly. I devoured it to give me strength, I was an animal following my instinct, knowing I would need every ounce of emotional power and resilience to cope with what lay ahead. I was exhilarated, afraid and determined, in roughly equal measures.