GC and GB: two douchebags with a massively over-inflated sense of their own merits who are prone to tantrums and bullying of subordinates. And then those self-same subordinates enjoy a modicum of revenge by leaking evidence of that utter douchebaggery to the press.

Coren, though, is a moderately talented writer who can narrow down to four the number of people whom he fears must hate him. (We think it’s greater than that, Giles, but never worry).

In the case of Brown, though,  leaving aside the fact that his job is of slightly more consequence than the where-a-middle-class-tosser-should-have-lunch columnist on The Times, the number of people who hate him at first hand is far, far greater. How many people could have leaked - and confirmed this story?

The stories are seeping out from No. 10. The other day, Gordon Brown was convinced that Dominic Grieve, the shadow Home Secretary, had made such a strong attack on 42-day detention as to impugn his commitment to national security. Although Downing Street advisers trawled and Googled, they could not find the quote. Their boss expressed gratitude for their efforts in the way that a sergeant-major would thank a recruit for a speck of dust on his rifle. Mr Brown then stationed himself at a terminal. For the next four hours, he sat there unavailingly, emanating gloom and rage. The non-psychiatric interpretation of his behaviour is termed “the playing politics with national security syndrome”.

Or previous tales of mobile phone-tossing, secretary-bullying tittle tattle?

Either way, the number of people who know him and loathe him, and those who have never met him but wish he would never trouble their thoughts again must surely exceed those who feel the same way about Giles Coren.

They may be in charge of two of the world’s most unstable and dangerous places on earth; and they may be high on the “most likely to be assassinated” list. But they don’t give off the voter-scaring bad vibes that aspiring commander in chief Barack Obama detects in Brown. What else would lead him to make damned sure his attempts to appear statesmanlike and foresighted aren’t scuppered by photographs of him and Brown outside Downing Street?

He will have a 45-minute meeting on Saturday morning with Gordon Brown followed by a press conference, which Obama will conduct on his own outside Downing Street in a blatant departure from the usual protocol.

There will be no Brown at his side to spoil the No 10 backdrop for American voters, even though it would be unthinkable for a British prime minister to appear in the White House Rose Garden without the president.

It’s not all bad news from the Middle East though. Israelis and Palestinians are united in one conviction: Blair was much better than Brown.

“I knew Mr. Tony Blair before, but Brown — I don’t know what he’s like,” said Palestinian taxi driver Saddam Musa, 55.

The newspaper [Haaretz] said there were other reasons for the little coverage given to Brown’s visit, saying he lacked the political clout of former British leaders such as Margaret Thatcher and Tony Blair.

Unlike Gordon Brown, though, the Betamax still has a vibrant fan club. Certainly, no-one would get so steamed up about the PM as to point out:

I have a few M10 and M20s that I am looking at. Loss of colour seems to be a problem that happens to these models apart from the obvious belt and drive rubber isues. Replacing the top board fixes the problem but I am not sure if its a faulty IC or an out of alignment thing.

Fucked, or what?

Unlike the Prime Minister, though, the deep-fried Mars bar mostly mortifies victims on the other side of Hadrian’s Wall and doesn’t even pretend to be good for you.

Sadly, instead of smiling at the novel way in which his countrymen block their arteries, Brown is a hatchet-faced, Calvinistic killjoy who can’t look a deep-fried Mars Bar in its battered eye without feeling he must set targets to reduce consumption.

Except in Glasgow East, where even those living lives of crushing poverty in concrete hellholes realise that a slab of cheap fat-drenched confectionary offers them more than Brown’s Labour party ever has. Even there, where a deep-fried Mars bar with a red rosette would normally get elected (and be of a higher calibre than most west of Scotland Labour politicians), the voters are contemplating turning their backs on the PM.  Should Labour stave off the advance of the SNP in Glasgow East it will be hailed as a triumph on a par with a Glaswegian getting a job or an Old Firm game passing without trouble; whereas, in fact, it is more akin to Celtic beating Raith Rovers.

Fat and sugar are, as Ian Rankin wisely observed, the very heart of the Scottish diet (alcohol provides the soul). “Fucking”, “Gordon” and “Brown”, however, have been at the heart of every Briton’s vocabulary since 2007, especially when opening fuel bills, wondering why their tax has gone up to give to those who earn more than them, welcoming in the bailiffs to repossess their homes, queuing outside a nationalised bank in a vain hope to reclaim their savings, or simply gazing at Brown’s false, child-frightening grin on the 6 o’clock news.