Lord Christopher Monckton, the man Al Gore is afraid to debate, managed to get before a microphone and speak to the startled delegates at the UN Climate Conference in Doha, Qatar for just under a minute.

One just couldn't resist. There they all were, earnestly outbidding each other to demand that the West should keep them in pampered luxury for the rest of their indolent lives, and all on the pretext of preventing global warming that has now become embarrassingly notorious for its long absence.

No one was allowed to give the alternative - and scientifically correct - viewpoint. The U.N.'s wall of silence was rigidly in place.

The microphone was just in front of me. All I had to do was press the button. I pressed it. The Chair recognized Myanmar (Burmese for Burma). I was on.

On behalf of the Asian Coastal Co-operation Initiative, an outfit I had thought up on the spur of the moment (it sounded just like one of the many dubious taxpayer-funded propaganda groups at the conference), I spoke for less than a minute.

Quietly, politely, authoritatively, I told the delegates three inconvenient truths they would not hear from anyone else:

• There has been no global warming for 16 of the 18 years of these wearisome, self-congratulatory yadayadathons.
• It is at least ten times more cost-effective to see how much global warming happens and then adapt in a focused way to what little harm it may cause than to spend a single red cent futilely attempting to mitigate it today.
• An independent scientific enquiry should establish whether the U.N.'s climate conferences are still heading in the right direction.

Were he a left winger pulling off such a triumph at a stodgy conservative redoubt (if any exist these days), he would be celebrated as a merry prankster, speaking truth to power. Monckton is also a gifted writer, and his mock serious confession of his sins ("Tsk, tsk. See me after class. Five demerits. Get down and give me 20!") is a hilarious indictment of the group before which he spoke.

I was amiably accompanied out into the balmy night, where an impressive indaba of stony-faced U.N. officials were alternately murmuring into cellphones and murmuring into cellphones. Murmuring into cellphones is what they do best.

After a few minutes the head of security - upper lip trembling and chest pulsating as he did his best to keep his laughter to himself - briefly  stopped murmuring into his cellphone and bade me a cheerful and courteous goodnight.

The national delegation from Burma, whose microphone I had borrowed while they were out partying somewhere in the souk, snorted an official protest into its cellphone.

An eco-freako journalist, quivering with unrighteous indignation, wrote that I had been "evicted". Well, not really. All they did was to say a cheery toodle-pip at the end of that day's session. They couldn't have been nicer about it.

Ridicule is our strongest weapon to break through the media-generated web of lies and distortions undergirding the progressive movement. There are so many phonies in the global warming industry that mockery has no limits, if only conservatives have the creativity and will to have at them satirically. Read the whole thing.