Labour of love
November 29th, 2008
I’m no fan of the Labour Party at all, or its doings, but I was impressed by one item among the usual drivel in its latest local newsletter.
I’m no fan of the Labour Party at all, or its doings, but I was impressed by one item among the usual drivel in its latest local newsletter.
Back in the days, I used to play a bit of chess - not to any great standard, but I entered a few tournaments and didn’t come last. Nearly last, yes, but not actually last.
Party election time again. Bah, humbug. Reminds me far too much of student union elections 20 years ago.
Of all the undignified ways to shuffle off this mortal coil, getting sucked into bottomless mud while clearing litter in your local park has got to rank right up there.
The longer this government lasts, the more its rhetoric sounds like the bad old days of the Thatcher years - and the easier it gets to spot its mistakes coming.
How perfectly splendid - it appears that an RAF fighter pilot on secondment to an American squadron has been able to wave the Queen’s Regulations in the face of US officers who were trying to get him to shave off his handlebar moustache.
News just breaking that the Tory shadow Home Secretary David Davis is resigning - not just from the shadow cabinet but from the House of Commons.
Quite the most bizarre day of my life, when I got up at four in the morning, drove to a frost-covered wood, and dug up a prize worth £100,000.
The fear of going bald does strange things to a man - just ask Mark Oaten. Thing is, there’s no turning back from it.