We cannot know what is going through the mind of crazed ex-despot Muammar Gaddafi as he continues to flee Nato bombs and rebel snipers — but we can have a good guess. He may be holed up gibbering in a basement in Sirte. He may be in Venezuela or working as a suspiciously taciturn short-order chef in a falafel bar in Tripoli.
Wherever he is I wager there is one thing that causes the old dyed ringlets to shake with rage, one thought that brings the foam to the corner of his champing jaws — and that is the treachery of all those he thought of as friends. And of those who have ratted on him in the last six months, there is one particular group of traitors that he would like to cast — I bet — to the nethermost fire-bubbling pit of hell. Never mind the rebels, and all those snaky ex-ministers who chose to defect as soon as the going got tough. Forget the buxom female “bodyguards” who took the first plane back to Ukraine. For sheer duplicity there is no one to beat – the British! May the fleas of a thousand camels infest their armpits!
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