For anyone living in the UK, the prophecies of Armageddon at last month's conference on climate change in Copenhagen must seem like some capricious joke just now. We were being warned of vineyards sprouting on the Hackney marshes and southern England becoming an arid desert; any child currently building a snowman in their back garden would be justified in renaming their effigy a global warming sceptic.
The UK is suffering its most severe bout of cold weather for many decades. With the country in the grip of sub-zero temperatures, schools have been closed, villages cut off, and supermarkets besieged by panic buyers. And with Britain's road network currently reduced to a giant skating rink, the only topic of conversation is the subject of grit; where to find it, how quickly to spread it, and how much more we might need of it.
But however chilly the temperatures outside, it's as nothing to the frosty atmosphere within 10 Downing Street. If, as some predict, the prime minister Gordon Brown is destined to lose the forthcoming general election some time this spring, then a single photograph of him last week may eventually be regarded as the defining image of the his doomed campaign. Taken on Wednesday, it shows Mr Brown exiting the door of Number 10 during a snow flurry, before climbing into his car for the short trip to the House of Commons.
One might have expected the PM's demeanour to be generally buoyant. A politician famously uneasy with the niceties of political chitchat and points-scoring, there's nothing like a good old-fashioned emergency such as the current freeze to bring out the best in him. Not on this occasion however. Emerging from the famous old doorway he looked like somebody whose pipes had just burst. What Mr Brown had just been told (but as yet we had not), was that two former cabinet ministers had sent a text to every member of the Labour party calling for an immediate ballot to decide if he was still fit to govern.
The two plotters, Geoff Hoon and Patricia Hewitt, may have claimed they were acting in the best interests of the party, but to most observers their plan smacked of sabotage brought on by personal disappointment. Mr Hoon had once been defence secretary under Mr Brown's predecessor, but now languishes in comparative anonymity. His co-conspirator Ms Hewitt had similarly been dumped as health secretary when Mr Brown took the helm.
Their call to arms was clearly designed to inflict maximum damage on their leader, and indeed, for a few dismal hours, it seemed Mr Brown's premiership was tottering. After all, it was unthinkable that two such seasoned campaigners would have contemplated such a move without being confident that other, bigger hitters would follow their example. One report later suggested that no fewer than six of the current cabinet had promised to back them once they broke cover.
But in the immediate aftermath, Mr Hoon and Ms Hewitt increasingly resembled a couple who'd announced a surprise party only to find their doorbell was broken. Far from the anticipated torrent of support, the response from the corridors of power was an embarrassed silence. When, during one frenzied press interview in the lobby at Westminster, Mr Hoon's stuttering attempt to justify his course of action was briefly interrupted by a fellow party MP telling him he should be ashamed of himself, he looked positively hurt. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
In the event, their grand design melted away like a snowball in a blast furnace, allowing Mr Brown to denounce their actions as a storm in a teacup, and rendering the miscreants as cold and isolated as the majority of their constituents are just now. But although they've been branded bunglers in the wake of their insurrection, the question remains: how much damage has their cack-handed coup done to their party's chances of winning a further term in power. An old Inuit proverb states: "He who seeks vengeance must dig two graves: one for his enemy and one for himself." In holing their leader's credibility below the water line, they may well have doomed both their party and themselves.
Meanwhile, Mr Brown survives yet again, to battle on through the snow and ice. Perhaps in this, his darkest political hour, he may show some true grit. Sadly, grit is the one thing currently in short supply just now. Michael Simkins is an actor and writer based in London
