The news that Brad Wall is leaving politics should be seen as emblematic of plain but rare sanity. Power is addictive, and few are the number who either seek or find release from its insidious charms. It ruthlessly flatters the needful egos of many who pursue it with toxic efficiency. Every victory is a telegram from Destiny, and every defeat proof that the times are out of joint. “Happy Rome, to be born under my consulship” is the favoured lullaby of every second-rater who lucked or lurked his way into high office.