I couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for Peter Hain on Question Time on Thursday night. Like a sickly Galapagos tortoise he seems to be shrinking away, retreating into his shell. He seemed small on that front stage, a lot smaller than I remember him. Maybe he's working too hard. Perhaps writing his latest book has taken a lot out of him. I have seen in times past when he could better command an audience and even sometimes get applause from the majority on Question Time. No longer. He and his ilk, just like the dinosaurs, have had their time. They ruled their Earth once, but now will have to relinquish that role, that is unless they can adapt extremely quickly to a changing world.

This time he was fighting his corner in front of a Welsh audience and yet even with the benefit of home crowd support he still disappointed me. You can see what punches he's going to throw from a mile off and you don't even have to fully defend against them as they have become predictable and ineffectual. It's not the array of punches in his repertoire that is the problem, it's the fact that it is he that is delivering them. His fighting style is a relic of times past but the public now want to see gladiators who offer more exciting and sometimes previously unseen combat skills. His days of knocking out the opposition are now over, I feel. The dinosaur, the Galapagos tortoise, will soon be no more.

Below is how I saw Peter Hain's latest and hopefully his last ring appearance. It is very much a personal view. I know the Fanboys see it differently, but they would, wouldn't they:

Ding ding went the bell for Round 1 and it was right up his street, the NHS. The usual dick waving between him and his redoubtable Tory opponent Sajid Javid took place, arguing whether you were better off falling ill in Wales or in England. The Tortoise narrowly edged out this first round because he had rehearsed his tactics so often in training it was impossible to knock him over onto his back. And a partisan crowd, including the imported Fanboys applauding on cue, probably influenced the judges. At one point the referee interceded because the Tortoise had used some dodgy statistics. Although the Tortoise won this round he did not win the argument. That was done by a third fighter with an unpronounceable Welsh name, who jumped into the ring. He sensibly stated it didn't matter whether the Welsh or the English had the biggest willy because all willies have something to offer. What mattered is that we have a look at the willies both sides of Offa's Dyke, see what's good about them, and then get a willy for Wales that is better than anyone else has got. You can't argue with that.

Ding ding, Second Round. Greeks reneging on debts and austerity this time. Tortoise had boxed himself into a corner. If you condone Greece reneging on its debts then why can't we do the same here? And everywhere else. Follow it to its logical conclusion and you have the collapse of global capitalism. He could see the inevitable result of letting the Greeks walk off into the Aegean sunset. He complained to the referee and anyone that would listen that Banks were to blame for everything bad in the world and the previous Labour Government had in fact been guardians of our future, investing pots of money in schools and hospitals. Contrary to popular belief they were not a bunch of economic illiterates and incompetents after all. He made no mention that most of this investment was done using something called PFI which means our grandchildren will still be paying through the nose for as long as they live. Nor did he mention that the infamous Fred the Shred and his contemporaries had been lauded so much by the very Government the Tortoise himself had sat in, and that they even gave Fred a knighthood. "Bankers, bankers" he kept repeating, even as Javid was speaking - at least I think that was what he said. As Javid was previously a high-flying banker this could have got him a warning for hitting below the belt but the referee let it ride. Split round this time.

Ding ding. Round Three. Fracking. He daren't say he was against it outright. He daren't support it.  This was now the Tortoise we were used to seeing, the one who waited to see which way everyone was thinking before he decided which side he'd fight on. Was he inside his shell or outside on this one? At least Javid was clearer with his views, whether you supported him or not. The Tortoise threw away what chance he had of retrieving this round when he shamelessly and illegally invoked the Severn Barrage manoeuvre. You could almost hear the sharp intake of breath from the audience. They knew this dirty trick would be coming; they had expected it. The Tortoise never went anywhere these days without pulling out that old phial of Snakeoil. If we had that then we could forget fracking, we could stop importing oil and gas, and everyone in Wales, especially those living in barn conversions in Aberdulais, would be exceedingly rich. No-one was fooled by the Tortoise's words, not the referee, the judges, the spectators and not least his ring opponent. Eyes were rolled heavenward as if to say, is that all you've got? I reckon Javid won that one easily - probably a 10-8 round.

A couple of further rounds took place which were much less interesting, neither fighter really impressing or gaining the upper hand. In fact I think I poured myself a (another) stiff drink to keep awake. And that's why the final verdict in the Stan household was a no-contest due to neither fighter being prepared to fully engage. Too much shadow boxing, feinting and not going all out to finish your opponent when you had the chance. Too much hot air, too much of the usual bullsh*t. But when all's said and done, they train in the same gymnasium!

I couldn't help but notice that one of the tactics the Tortoise employed in this fight was to nod sagely when absolutely anyone except Javid made a point that the common herd agreed with. But whenever Javid spoke, the Tortoise looked serious and stern, even disdainful, with his mouth characteristically downturned. He looked as though a larger tortoise had just nicked his lettuce! Sometimes he shook his head as if his neck was aching. These well worn tactics to endear himself to the multitude did not earn him any points on the judges' scorecard. They were there to see a proper fight, not posturing.

After the contest finished, and the cameras had stopped filming, the Tortoise's entourage gently removed his gloves. His eyes seemed to have shrunk into his skull. He glanced down at his thickened waist, his pecs too now past their best despite all those hours lifting weights in the gym.
"How did I do, Fanboys?" he said.
"Great fight, Champ. Next time you'll bury him."  
"So what do I need to do different if we get a rematch?"
"Make sure you put more olive oil on your shell. You looked a pale imitation of your former self".

They walked him slowly back to the car and opened the boot where there was a large box filled with straw. The Tortoise crawled inside it. "I'm knackered" he said. "It IS a younger man's game when all's said and done. Take me home and carry me into the woodshed, you know, the one with the nice new roof. Don't wake me up for three months by which time it'll all be over."

And as far as I know, that's where he may still be.