Froth. They like that word in Tony Blair's Downing Street. Along with "tittle tattle", it invariably appears to repel any problem, real or perceived, which the government doesn't want to be bothered with.
And it enjoys a pretty wide application. "Froth" can cover anything from cabinet splits over the euro to Mo Mowlam's depiction of her demotion, to Mr Blair's new "tea lady"; from questions about who lied to whom regarding Bernie Ecclestone's million pound donation to the resumed quest to identify the source who told writer Andrew Rawnsley about Chancellor Brown's "psychological flaws".
Froth and tittle tattle were what journalists were on about when they queried Lord Falconer's apology to "VIPs and ordinary people" for the delays that soured the first big night at the Dome; as when they suggested Lord Falconer might consider his position in the light of a National Audit Office report identifying "weak" financial management at the heart of the costly and controversial attraction at Greenwich.
Froth is spinmeister-speak for the chattering class fixation with "control-freakery" - that trait which would eventually see Mr Blair bow to Rhodri Morgan's replacement of Alun Michael as Welsh First Secretary and humiliated in his efforts to stop Ken Livingstone becoming London mayor.
And froth, of course, is what you get when somebody leaks a series of memorandums - penned by Mr Blair and his focus group guru Philip Gould - confirming that the Blair government is seen as "out of touch with gut British instincts"; "weak" on the family; "soft" on asylum; "insufficiently assertive" in defending the national interest; and that the Prime Minister himself "is not believed to be real . . . lacks conviction . . . is all spin and presentation".
Froth. During 2000, it sometimes seemed Mr Blair's government would disappear under a tidal wave of the stuff.
The rub is that much of it was of New Labour's own confection. They might have winced inside Number 10 at Rory Bremner's portrayal of Mr Blair as press secretary Alistair Campbell's poodle. But the real farce was the BBC documentary about Campbell himself in which the Prime Minister was - in the memorable words of Charlie Whelan - "made to look like a prat".
A few commentators had soured the genuine mood of rejoicing that attended the birth of Leo Blair in May, after Mr Blair's emotional appearance before the cameras clutching a mug bearing a photograph of his other three children. But here on camera was the Prime Minister actually discussing tea bags and how the mug came to be in his hand in the first place. It seemed a strange role reversal to have the Prime Minister being interviewed about his press secretary at all. And for many viewers a bit shocking to see Mr Campbell abruptly terminating a press conference, prompting the press corps to abandon the scene with Mr Blair still holding centre stage.
The official spokesman may justifiably complain about media fixation with the spinmeisters' practice of the black arts. However, nobody believes the charge of "spin journalism" when it comes to Mr Rawnsley's tale of dysfunctional relationships and personality faultlines at the heart of the government; of colossal rows, no expletive deleted, between Blair and Brown; the Chancellor's continuing fury at Blair stealing a march, and the leadership, after the death of John Smith; or Mr Brown's continuing hostility toward Peter Mandelson for having backed the winner.
One of the many claims made during the past year was that Mr Brown backed Mr Mandelson's appointment to Belfast in the hope that the complexities of the peace process would give him less time to make a nuisance of himself in London.
Mr Mandelson, however, has proven well able to master the Northern Ireland brief while remaining a pivotal figure in the government. He and Mr Brown are obliged to plot Mr Blair's advance on that historic second term. And readers wanting to know if and when a second-term Blair government will join the euro should watch that space: for the clearest indication of prime-ministerial intent will come if the day after the next election finds Mr Mandelson made foreign secretary.
WHICH brings us to the oddity of the past year in Blair's Britain. The government has been buffeted by all of this, and by real "events". Yet the year ends as it began, with Labour set for seeming certain victory and the Tories, as one commentator puts it, "disappearing up their own fundaments".
By the turn of the year, the longevity of the government's "honeymoon" had become a cliche. A newly-scratchy mood was fuelled by the continuing perception that New Labour is an "arrogant" bunch. The Dome, the memo leaks, and perceived divisions over the euro conspired, with Mr Livingstone's victory and Tory gains in the Council elections, to take the shine off the red rose construct.
By June, it seemed Mr Hague had found a resonance for his "populist" stance on crime, immigration and Europe. Mr Blair's famous hand-bagging by the Women's Institute reinforced the sense that he had lost his winning touch. Nor were Labour attacks on Conservative "extremism" helped by charges from Liberal Democrats that ministers too were playing the "race" card over asylum - a distasteful contest, indeed, which ended with the appalling deaths of 58 asylum-seekers from China in a sunbaked, airless container at Dover.
Then, in September, a protest by farmers and lorry drivers against the highest-priced fuel in Europe came from nowhere to bring the country close to a standstill and to provide the most extraordinary, and effective, challenge yet to the Blair government's authority. Suddenly opinion polls had the Tories in the lead, for the first time since 1992, and Mr Hague went to his Bournemouth conference declaring his party ready to resume government.
Big mistake, in the view of some Westminster experts. The country may not exactly love New Labour but there is no sign that they are remotely ready to contemplate a Tory return to power. In fairness, Mr Hague can hardly offer himself to the electorate as leader of a putative opposition. Yet Conservative insiders privately admit that is his real mission: to reconnect with the core Tory constituency, slash Mr Blair's majority, secure his own position in the next parliament and, in the process, give Mr Blair cause to doubt his ability to win a subsequent referendum on the euro.
By early December, even that hope was beginning to look forlorn. In Bournemouth, Michael Portillo had antagonised his old fans on the Thatcherite right with a call for a newly tolerant and inclusive Conservatism. He shocked by making what should have been the unremarkable assertion that the Tories could hardly hope to command the respect of people - including ethnic minorities and gays - unless the party respects them. But, together with Ms Ann Widdecombe - who must have lost a ton of votes with her promise to criminalise a generation of young people (not to mention many of their parents) for possession of a joint - Mr Portillo triggered a damaging authoritarian/libertarian split just as Mr Hague effectively closed down the party's civil war over Europe.
To the students of froth and spin, moreover, it looked for all the world as if Portillo and Widdecombe were preparing for the contest to succeed Mr Hague after a general election defeat. Mr Portillo subsequently tried to dispel that notion, insisting again that he had "no ambition" to lead the Tory party. But, as this was dissected for its true meaning, the suspicion arose that he had been stitched up by Central Office apparatchiks determined that Mr Hague would survive whatever the election result.
Chancellor Brown, meanwhile, had availed of the fuel protesters' 60-day ultimatum - coupling a raft of concessions to farmers and hauliers and a £2.7 billion sterling (£4.4 billion) package for pensioners with more money for schools in a pre-Budget report backed by a £14 billion surplus, which enabled him to further reduce national debt and still leave open the possibility of pre-election tax cuts.
As Mr Hague valiantly maintained the election was still all to play for, Labour resumed a commanding lead in the polls, exciting talk of another three-figure majority, if not another landslide. Emboldened by the prospect, New Labour even decided they could risk alienating the euro-sceptic press and began the process of reconnecting with its core voters by suggesting it might finally be time to move beyond the Thatcher era.
Now that really would be the politics of substance not spin.