Silvio Berlusconi: A career in outrage

Silvio Berlusconi might just be the oiliest man alive. Yes, there’s the rictus grin like an Alfa Romeo salesman; the dubious slicked-back hairline in a dubious shade of chocolate; the rubberised apricot face scaffolded by botox; the grasping, greasing palms. But there’s something else there, too — a base slipperiness, an effortless slither. Like some fluid comic book shapeshifter disappearing from a prison cell through the keyhole — you simply can’t contain the man, or pin a charge to him. Every time you think he’s been flushed down the plug hole (a tax evasion charge here, an underage prostitute there), he shoots back up, more powerful than ever. He is irrepressible — a human oil spill. And now he’s back.