Bye Bye Babes

So. The Red Dwarf spitefully stabs Chuckles immediately prior to the European Election. A fantastic move, unprecedented. She's leaving the Cabinet, going back to her roots. Pass the Henna. I won't miss that plucky, chipper walk, the grin of almost demented gaiety. Vote for Hazel Blears if you will. She's a ball-breaker. I might like that ...

Squirrel Nutkin's off too. I don't want to rake up the past, but it seems perfectly reasonable to me that Jacqui Smith's unfortunate husband orders hard-core pornographic films. In his position so would I. It's just that I'm not keen on paying for them. For him, I mean. Obviously.

Beverley Hughes: another ginger, another goodbye, another limo back to Manchester. We could play book-ends, or something more interesting. Her expenses transgressions are relatively minor compared with Blears', and she's leaving for personal reasons. Let's hope they aren't as personal as Smith's.

In passing, I learned the other day that on his departure from office, all records of Tony Bliar's expenses were shredded. It's nice to have a good clear-out from time to time.

Happy Daze

I don't usually put jokes on this blog, but my friend Dave The Bass has kindly made a contribution that I can't resist.

A man died and went to heaven. As he stood in front of St Peter at the Pearly Gates he saw a huge wall of clocks behind him. He asked, 'What are all those clocks?'

St Peter answered, 'Those are Lie-Clocks. Everyone on Earth has a Lie-Clock. Every time you lie, the hands of your clock will move.'

The man pointed at the first clock. 'Who's is that?' 'That's Mother Theresa's. The hands have never moved, because she never told a lie.'

'Incredible,' said the man, 'and the next one?' 'The Queen of England's. The hands have only moved twice, because she's only told two lies in her entire life.'

'Where's Gordon Brown's?' asked the man. St Peter replied, 'Gordon's clock is in Jesus' office. He's using it as a ceiling fan.'


One of the joys of this joke is its flexibility.

Home Alone

Amid the scandalous revelations of MPs' second-home expense claim abuse, one clarion voice, free of guilt or shame, rings out clear, rising clean and pure above the frightened parroting of 'within the rules'. A crusading force for good gives the British people hope that integrity and truth will see off the rabble of hypocrites falling over themselves to apologise for having been found out. It's the Harriet Harmon Show!

As the bad news broke, the fearful shysters began to dribble and roll their eyes, but by contrast Ms Harmon was a model of composure. She was the only senior Labour figure brave enough publicly to discuss the wrongdoings of honourable members.

Appearing on TV, Harriet wept openly at the deceit and shamelessness of the cheats, while informing the nation with absolute conviction that she has never ever claimed any money or allowances for her second home. This only served to emphasise the wickedness of those party colleagues (particularly her many enemies) who had made extravagent claims, an effect she presumably had overlooked.

A little research throws some light on this behaviour. Harmon is not eligible to claim any money at all for a second home. 'I come under a different system because I am an Inner London MP', she grudgingly admitted when pressed by baying media interrogators.

Who's a lucky girl?