Canada's political engine is stalled in a sort of double doldrums right now. Not only is there no prospect of a credible challenge by any of the other parties. The stalemate is just as severe within the Liberal ranks. When he became too popular for the insecure Chretien to tolerate, Paul Martin was cut loose from cabinet and left to drift through the gravity-free zone of deep space for the better part of two years. The PM's job is his for the plucking in 2004, provided he doesn't disappear down any black holes or die of boredom first.

Martin tries to put the best face on it, but what a weird existence is his right now; out on the hustings all alone before an election has even been called. He's running for the job, all right. Or at least trotting. After all, what's the point in rushing when no one's licking at your heels but Father Time? But there's no one to debate and not much of a platform to unveil. He plays golf in the afternoon and dishes up vague platitudes at wildly successful fund-raising dinners in the evening.

The ones who are really gestating ulcers as they struggle to suppress their ambitions are the would-be also-rans - still undeclared Liberal leadership contenders forced to pretend they "ain't waitin' for nuffin" until sadistic Uncle Jean finally feels like firing off the starting gun. Alan Rock, John Manley and Sheila Copps can only stare in sick envy at Martin's ever-swelling campaign war chest, grind their molars down to stubs and chug Pepto-Bismal for the next 15 months.

I've come to see Chretien like some unshakeable nightmare of a house guest who won't shove off and let his hosts get on with the job of sweeping up. We can gather up the empties and refuse to disguise our yawns. We can change into our pajamas and brush our teeth, dripping white suds on the leftover canape crusts. But he will not take the hint.

"What 'appened to the salt and vinegar chips dat were 'ere?" he asks, pulling another brewskie from the fridge and - in lieu of an opener or a glass - he sits back down, twists off the cap and drinks from the bottle.

Unmovable house guests turn from tiresome nuisances into active menaces when they stagger out onto the porch at a sensitive hour of the night and harass the neighbours with loutish slurs. In a CBC-TV interview on the first anniversary of the terrorist attacks on New York City and Washington D.C., Chretien opined:

"You know, you cannot exercise your powers to the point of humiliation for others. This is what the Western world - not only the Americans - has to realize. Because they are human beings, too. There are long-term consequences if you don't look hard at the reality in 10 or 20, 30 years from now. And I do think that the Western world is getting too rich in relation to the poor world and necessarily, you know, we're looked upon as being arrogant, self-satisfied, greedy and with no limits. And Sept. 11 is an occasion for me to realize it even more."

"Hey, pal," I want to say to this Interminator. "You're out of line. Nothing can even partially justify the calculated murder of 3,000 innocent civilians. I've been living next door to these people for a lot longer than you've been in office and they'll still be my neighbours when you're nothing more than a particularly dim memory. Sure, we have our little tiffs and disagreements, but when I look around at other neighbourhoods and what people have to put up with, I thank my lucky stars to live next door to such generous, decent people. They're not the problem.

You are. I'm embarrassed to call you my prime minister and I want you out of my house."

Herman Goodden is a London freelance writer. His column appears in Monday's and Thursday's Opinion pages. It no longer appears in Sunday's A&E section. He can be e-mailed at herman.goodden@sympatico.ca.