It may not feel like it. Of course it doesn't feel like it. But it's just possible that we are living in some heady days.
Ok, maybe like lovely Robert Kee in old East Berlin, i've got my eyes a little crinkled up. Or maybe like Leonard Cohen, i'm getting this democratic vibe through the wall on a flood of alcohol.
Or just perhaps.
Just perhaps, the reason the right is going quite so nutty here and in the States is that they're terrified this could all come right. I mean left.
In the USA, the attacks on Obama read more like a plot from the X Files. Or something. Listening to web radio is bizarre.
There's straight-faced discussion of the claim that Obama is the puppet of a left wing cabal set to introduce a world currency. That's the woolley-brained IMF to you and me.
And of course the new president is giving all the USA's money to ... well somebody.
Trouble is, most US citizens name a celebrity as their major source of information.
Now we may think that's Oprah - but the big O is a little too high brow for many. Truth is, for many of our cousins, the celebrity to whom they refer / defer is the Rev Cleetus Awreetus. Or somesuch. And he's white, he's right and he's barking.
The real plot in the USA - just as it was here when Blair won - and just as it was when Labour was elected in 1945 - is the plot of the right. The difference is that, in the States the right just gets madder and even more forthright.
Not quite so, here.
Sixty years ago in the UK, in the face of mass rejection, the Tories went underground. They infiltrated every organisation they didn't already own. And then they invented a few more.
The League of British Housewives - supposedly a non-political campaign to take bread off rationing - was in fact a Tory puppet.
And 50 years later, Tory candidates whipped their party off the ballot paper and became .... independent something or other. But it was the same old dowager duchesses who turned out as number takers on election day.
Then, with the apparent nose-dive of Gordon Brown, they threw off their masks and took up, once more, their Daily Mail 'Mr Hiter is not all bad' chants.
There is nothing better than an over-confident Tory. Their smugness is like cheap melting chocolate; it's messy, difficult to shift and ... tastes crap.
Where was i?
Oh yeah ... the good news is that Obama, for a few lovely moments, has turned the UK clocks back. We are in summertime again. (That would be forwards but never mind).
And the good news is ... well ... the good news is that Gordon Brown just got called "Brilliant Brown" by Bob Geldof.
And the good news is, Gordon just pissoir'd on the French. Err, and the Germans.
And the good news is we'll be out of Iraq (kind of) in a couple of months and the good news is ...
Well ok , i'm pretty sure there's some worse bank stuff to come. And Afghanistan is stupid and Obama may be digging in Dennis Healey's hole.
Or maybe not. Maybe Obama can work some sexy magic on the war lords. Err no. Even i can't dream that. But he does seem very very bright. And for once, as an ENTJ, he may just have the right personality to see the job through.
Anyway. The right are worried.
In the States they will have to put up a laughable Really Really Right candidate in four years time. (Although the American constitution almost guarantees that Obama will be struggling for a majority in Congress very quickly.)
And over here, Cameron, looks increasingly like last year's Tracy Island, Pokemon, Ben Ten. So what, he won the X factor. He's lost his record contract already and must rely on Labour hanging itself. (Which admitedly is what happens to most governments.)
Anyway. Look, we know G20 wasn't that great. But your average newspaper editor is too thick to work out that detail.
And they certainly can't afford to take the fragrant Mrs Obama off their pages. Crumbs, she's the Jackie Kennedy / Mrs Diana they were praying for. Something has to go in between the adverts they're trying to flog.
Sorry Mrs Obama, it's up to you. She's good too. Better than Hillary. Gosh, there's a thought.
Now i know the Guardian isn't the Sun. It isn't even the Guardian. But it's more than a start.
So. Steady as she goes, Brilliant Brown. "Four more years, four more years, four more .... " Oh Blimey.