Tony was gifted the ability to convince himself of the irrefutable veracity of whatever he happened to be saying at the precise moment he was saying it. A pretty expedient evolutionary trait for the political animal since it technically enables the beneficiary to sidestep accusations that they may, for instance, have knowingly misled the nation over Iraqi WMDs.
Sadly for Big Tone, the great unwashed do not necessarily deal in technicalities, though it took them long enough to deny him the benefit of their doubt.
A supremely slippery political operator, granted, but his 3 term tenure was haplessly abetted, to pursue my clumsy evolutionary analogy, by the 10 year absence of any natural predators; the Tory party during this period, having its guns trained fairly consistently on its own feet rather than across the dispatch-box.
No jowls for Tony but a decade or so in the big boy pants with Gordo’s fetid breath on his neck’s nape certainly took a physical toll as he slowly evinced the greying of skin and fraying of hair to which prime ministerial flesh is heir.
Check out Dark Lord Martin Rowson’s reekingly cadaverous portrayal to see what I mean.