IT IS said by some that David Bowie created his epic song Life On Mars by writing a series of rhyming couplets, chucking them all up in the air and organising the lyrics in the order that they landed. If true, this must surely be the basis on which Tony Blair constructs a Cabinet. It has long been plain that he does not “do” personnel effectively. Margaret Thatcher mused that a Prime Minister has to learn to be a “good butcher”. After nine years in Downing Street Mr Blair remains an incompetent vegetarian.

It does, after all, take some effort to achieve the following. To humiliate the Deputy Prime Minister by reducing him to a state where it looks as if he is leeching off the taxpayer for a large salary, official automobiles and several properties. To alienate the Chancellor and heir presumptive by conspicuously choosing not to consult him over crucial appointments. To defend a Home Secretary to the hilt in the House of Commons on a Wednesday and yet stab him in the back less than 48 hours later.

To insult a Foreign Secretary by irrationally demoting him. To shift a Defence Secretary only for tragic events in Basra to demonstrate how especially important experience is in that portfolio. And to irritate most of the remainder of your colleagues by moving them around Whitehall in the fashion of a restless teenager attempting to make his bedroom seem more trendy.

This reshuffle was so bad that one barely knows where to begin. So let us breathe deeply and start with Charles Clarke. The improper release of foreign national prisoners is without doubt a Class A scandal. There were two logical ways to deal with it and the Home Secretary. Either (a) ask for or accept his resignation when the story emerged two weeks ago, or, (b) allow him to oversee the operation to catch the people at large and then determine whether he has enough credibility left to continue with his job.

The Third Way that the Prime Minister adopted is surreal. The Home Office has to break in a fresh political master while rapidly seeking to locate hundreds of criminals. John Reid has my sympathies. In different circumstances he would not be a daft choice for the job. It must be flattering, if frustrating, for him that Mr Blair insists on deploying him as a political Red Adair. Mr Reid, after sitting in seven Cabinet seats in seven years, has become a sort of Pacman figure whizzing around Whitehall consuming departments. There are those who resent ministers being allowed to have drivers paid for by the rest of us. I do not. Without one how would Mr Reid recall which building in Westminster was his place of work on a given morning? Still, I suppose he may have a flair for understanding persistent lawbreakers. He too has spent life constantly in and out of institutions.

If the treatment of Mr Clarke was harsh, that of Jack Straw was heinous. The only alibi that anyone close to the Prime Minister can offer for Mr Straw’s sacking as Foreign Secretary was that it was necessary to shift him to show that it was a major reshuffle. This is potty.

It was not, after all, thought appropriate to elbow Patricia Hewitt out of Health to indicate that Mr Blair was being tough and radical. The only justification I can think of for letting her stay is that in the long term she might save the NHS a mound of money by draining the electorate of the will to live. So, Mr Straw, who was a rather impressive Foreign Secretary and whose reputation and weight had become an asset for British diplomacy, is shunted elsewhere. Margaret Beckett, who would have been an excellent Health Secretary, is asked to brush up on her language skills and she will be served by poor Geoff Hoon who, after carrying the can for the Prime Minister on Iraq, has been treated more unfairly by him than Baldrick was by Rowan Atkinson in Blackadder.

By far the most dangerous aspect of all this, however, is the cavalier manner in which Mr Blair is again handling Gordon Brown. To build up the profiles of Mr Reid and Alan Johnson, the new Education Secretary, was unwise but, at a stretch, perhaps unavoidable. Selecting the über-loyal Hazel Blears to be the Labour Party chairman and, to a lesser degree, nominating Jacqui Smith to be the Chief Whip, was utterly incendiary.

Ms Blears may be a talented woman, but it is hard to shake off the vision of her as the parrot on Long Tony Silver’s shoulder. The necessary task of reinvigorating the Labour Party’s organisation is one for the incoming leader.

It would have been more than mere courtesy to have asked Mr Brown’s opinion. That Mr Blair did not is ridiculous. It implies that there is a kamikaze tendency in No 10 that wants their man to squat there for as long as possible in the vain hope that something might occur to stop Mr Brown pocketing his prize. This syndrome — called Milburn’s Disease in the trade — is toxic. The Prime Minister appears to lack any appreciation of the subtle demands of transition politics, despite that it was his decision to pre- announce his resignation before this parliamentary term that made the astute exercise of transition politics so essential.

It has long been contended that Mr Brown would never risk a coup against Mr Blair because he does not want to launch his leadership in a sea of blood. Yet if he senses that the Prime Minister is hostile to a smooth succession, then why not opt to challenge? Mr Brown’s mastery of the trade union section of Labour’s electoral college alone is enough to suggest that he would slaughter Mr Blair if they fought for the crown.

This reckless reshuffle has thus imperilled the Prime Minister to an extent that five Conservative leaders and a few overseas dictators never managed. It steers me, at least, to ponder a personally painful question: “Has Mr Blair become a menace to Blairism?”

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