September - as Tony Blair is discovering, and as John Major could tell him - can be the cruellest month.

Barely a fortnight ago the British Prime Minister returned refreshed from holiday in Italy and France to discover that, in his absence, the government's poll lead had stretched to 12 points. Mr William Hague's pre-summer "recovery" had disappeared like early snow in Hull. And with only the scale of Labour's second three-figure-majority seemingly in doubt, the hot question for the new political season was whether Mr Hague could avoid a Canadian-style wipe-out and thus save his job as leader of the Opposition in the next parliament.

None of these calculations was challenged by the emotional outburst attending Dr Mo Mowlam's not-quite-yet resignation. But the week since has seen Labour hit by a triple-whammy: new books revealing more about dysfunctional relationships at the heart of Mr Blair's government; renewed demands for the head of his friend, Lord Falconer, as the Dome faces a fresh threat of closure; and a popular revolt over soaring fuel prices which has evoked memories of Jim Callaghan's crisis - "What Crisis?" - in 1979.

Much of the British press was restrained in its response to the latest Mo hates Gordon - won't forgive Tony - doesn't speak to Mo - hates Peter - hates Gordon - kept Tony in the dark - saga. The Prime Minister dismisses all this as froth, and it is hardly of itself life-threatening to the government. However, tales of deep personal loathing jar with the wholesome image the government likes to project. Moreover, they risk inviting voters to ponder why they should like ministers who palpably dislike each other.

Not the stuff of "big picture" politics, for sure, but the stuff of resentments which easily build when people think they are being taken for granted, ignored, or, worse still, lied to. Certainly there is growing resentment at ministerial suggestions that the Dome was an exercise in urban regeneration, when it is widely seen as an monument to the government's own vanity.

And it is a belief that ministers are not telling the truth about rising fuel revenues which has fuelled popular support (so far at least) for the blockades which have threatened to bring Britain to a standstill.

People know Britain is the only one of the Group of Seven richest industrial nations self-sufficient in oil, and that they still pay higher taxes on fuel than anywhere else in Europe. The public also suspect this is deliberate, knowing the government is keen to cut back on car use while failing yet to provide a transformed public transport service.

So they have combined - the rural poor, farmers (embittered about the beef war, falling milk prices, attacks on the country way of life), and so-called Mondeo Man (New Labour's key target in 1997) - to take the government unawares, and cast its competence and authority into question. They have taken to the streets - not to bring down the government - but to demand a price cut which current polls suggest has 80 per cent public support.

It is a nightmare scenario for Mr Blair. The Prime Minister, we know, likes to be popular. However, even more than that, he hates to be perceived as weak on any issue.

Inevitably then, when ministers finally got wise to the scale of the mounting challenge, Mr Blair emerged sounding like Mrs Thatcher. Churchillian was the description coined by one doubting Labour MP, quickly latched on to by Mr Michael Portillo.

The shadow chancellor echoed Mr Hague's charge of a crisis made in Downing Street. Fearing there might be something in this, even some Labour supporters questioned whether Mr Blair had framed the right response.

These weren't natural militants, after all, bent on the destruction of democratic society. The demonstrations were largely peaceful, friendly affairs - and while ministers might be impatient, police officers on the ground seemed reluctant to engage while no laws were being broken.

Having listened to Mr Blair on television on Tuesday night, one London motorist vowed he would never vote Labour again: "He's cold, he's never really been in touch with the people."

Mr Blair and his ministers will have calculated that "the people" would be singing a rather different tune once the threat to essential and emergency services began to disrupt their lives. And, armed with emergency powers, he has set about ordering the oil companies and police to keep the tankers rolling.

It is a battle Mr Blair has to win. Whatever concession might be made come the next budget, even those enjoying his discomfiture yesterday accepted that taxation policy could not be determined at the blockade and picket line.

The front page of the Daily Mirror will have hurt. The paper ran photographs of Mr Blair, Mr Brown and Mr Prescott under the headline "Empty", with the accompanying text: "These three men run the country. Today, the country will run dry. None of them knows quite how to get it going . . . but they all agree it's not their fault."

Mr Blair will be praying the oil companies and police do get it going, and quickly. For worse headlines will follow should they fail, forcing Mr Blair to use his emergency powers and deploy the troops. Put that image on the front pages and it really will begin to feel like the Winter of Discontent.

Mr Blair staked something of his credibility on the promise that Britain would be "on the way back to normal" within 24 hours. Having donned Churchill's mantle, it is too soon to say if he is having a good war.