SO, our beloved Prime Minister has finally received his political come-uppance.

Not, as you might expect, from political opponents, nor from social activists or urban terrorists.

No, Tony Blair has had his wrists well and truly slapped by the ladies of the nation.

He stepped out of line and got well and truly trodden on, not a pretty sight.

If there's something you can't do it's try to manipulate a gathering of female maturity determined to show independence.

It must have been a bit of a shock for our control freak of a leader to discover things going not quite according to plan.

He must have thought, ah yes, Women's Institute, this laudable organisation is synonymous with a Brownie Pack or a Ladies' Bowls Team.

How wrong can you be.

Behind the benevolent smile of this symbol of matriarchy and conventional womanhood lurked the hungry grin of a crocodile. Still waters, they say, run deep, and the deeper they run the more you need to tread very carefully.

In all his years in public (and presumably happily married) life Mr Blair seems not to have learned one of the basic lessons.

That is, if your mother says do something, even if you don't like it, you would be well advised to comply.

Hands that are used to jam-making, holding sun flowers and singing Jerusalem can just as easily clap slowly and heckle to a purpose.

How foolhardy can you get?

A group of ladies that can bare all with dignity can certainly tell a young upstart where to get off.

I understand that Princess Tony (as they call him in one of the national daily newspapers) was advised to steer clear of political topics, but, would he do as he was told? Not our Tony.

He simply had to go and mention the National Health Service.

He shoved his head above the parapet and got a face-full of metaphorical custard pie.

You have to feel sorry for the guy.

Like an American trying to understand cricket, all he could do was look stupefied.

I suppose it's a bit like a teenager who has decided to push the boundaries of acceptability just a little bit too far.

Except that our Prime Minister is no longer a teenager: he's a dad four times over.

I wonder what Cherie said to him afterwards?

I've no doubt she had that look on her face that said: "There, there, don't come to me crying just because you've been caught with your hands in the biscuit barrel."

Hey, cheer up Tony, treat it as a learning experience.

I'm sure the WI will forgive you in time.

That's what they do.

Just think of them as the Mothers' Union with chain mail and you won't go far wrong.

If you want to get back your confidence change Leo's nappy or even make a date to address the Conservative Party, if you haven't got a calendar the Women's Institute will let you have one - it'll only cost you a fiver.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.