Tony Blair belongs to a new breed of leader, representing a generation raised in post-war stability and 1960s libertarianism. His eight years as British prime minister have robustly tested that generation's capacity to inherit the earth, or at least to do anything once they've inherited it.
This was the free-love, rock 'n' roll, flower-power generation, the one that famously didn't want to be alive when it was 25, the one that, really, wanted to die before it grew up. Then the Peter Pans hit 40 and had to face the fact that they would soon be called upon to maintain the peace, prosperity and stability previous generations had won in blood.
Here was a generation which overdosed on ideals, which regarded power as synonymous with corruption, and which, for this and other reasons, didn't care to face the hard choices power sometimes presents.
The 1980s offered an embarrassment of hate-figures for the Peter Pans to work out on. But Thatcher and Reagan slid into history, and the clock ticked on. Blair was a man thrown up by history's flawless intuition. He wore Levis and played some guitar chords, spoke in generalisations and stood for things no right-thinking person could quarrel with. Deeper down, he was of sterner stuff, but understood above all the importance of projecting a shallow idealism so as not to frighten the flower children.
He knew that the most important thing was not his ability to lead but leading without challenging the beliefs of his generation. In this he had road-tested role model in the sax-tooting Bill Clinton, who had already conducted an extended workshop in how to occupy office without doing much. A certain competence was required, but, allied with the dour Presbyterian Gordon Brown, there seemed every reason to expect that Blair could survive in government for a term or two without bankrupting the country. After that, the reins could be handed back to the adults, if any could be found.
It might have worked out but for 9/11. Blair's first term was a study in political water-treading. Under the sway of the arch-cynic Mandelson, he eschewed his radical instincts and concentrated on winning a second term by not giving political offence. Duly won, his second term appeared set on a similar course, when the 1960s' dream of perpetual irresponsibility ended with that first aircraft hitting the World Trade Centre.
Since then, Tony Blair has discharged his leadership responsibilities to Britain and the West with admirable determination and courage. But the more effectively he has done so, the more he has drawn down upon his head the scorn and irascibility of his own generation. When the Peter Pans say they don't "trust" Blair, what they mean is that he has exposed their bluff. Desiring him to find a fudge, to vindicate their mantras about peace, love and understanding, they found Blair shaking his head. They might have forgiven him for that, had he not, in pursuing the logic of his growing maturity, gone into partnership with George W Bush, the archetypal Peter Pan bogeyman.
For two years we've witnessed a discussion ostensibly about Iraq but really about Blair's breaking ranks with the delusions of the post-war generation - now with the means, through media influence, to pursue its agenda beyond usefulness or truth.
Rumours about the attorney general's advice on the legality of invading Iraq had been doing the rounds for months, but the leaking of the text was timed with precision to hit Blair in the last week of the campaign. The advice was typical of legal advice anywhere, anytime: "You have a reasonable case but you might lose in court." Mere absence of news value, however, could not stop such an opportunity for a timely assault on public sentiment.
While those who elected Blair in 1997 no longer trust or like him, they have no love for his opponents either. Mindful of this, the Conservative and Lib-Dem campaigns have been directed less at garnering support to themselves than dissuading Labour supporters from turning out by reminding them of why they resent Blair.
On the face of it, neither of the challengers has a smell of power for at least another term. But because of the exaggerated importance of marginal seats, significant abstentions by Labour supporters may be decisive. "If you don't vote, you don't count" no longer holds true: reduced turnouts lend the individual abstention an increased value.
It seems inconceivable that Blair could lose, but you never know. The Iraq card, played adroitly by Lib-Dem leader Charles Kennedy, is calculated to immobilise the Peter Pans with their own woolly-mindedness and if not woo them, at least cause them to stay home. The Peter Pans' ideal outcome is for Blair to remain in power provided they don't have to take responsibility for supporting him.
Blair has handled things cleverly by seeming to offer them Gordon as an equal partner; but, even so, much depends on whether Labour supporters fear a return to opposition more than they hate seeming to support Blair. The interplay of such subterranean sentiments will ensure that the count is much more interesting than the campaign.