The Telescope Game. Better than it sounds, but only marginally.

Whoever’s orchestrating the campaign against Iain Duncan Smith should plainly be the Conservative Party’s spin doctor. To blow up an unproved matter of paying your wife money for nothing into something akin to The Hutton Inquiry is a masterpiece. Not one I agree with, however – it’s not a bundle of fun watching a man who’s only fault is to have more morals than most of the other politicians being torn apart. He’s mounting a staunch defence (see this article, and this video, from ITV); one that suggests he knows this is the time to do or die.
While most political observers can smell the cynical stench of “death by media”, his critics can really smell the blood and are royally shafting him from all sides. They say he can’t possibly call the offenders into line, because he stepped out of line under the Major government. So a political leader’s only hope of being strict with his peers is to be a drone as a backbencher? They say that if he doesn’t buck up the Tories in the opinion polls, he’ll have to go. But what chance does he have, when at the first sign of recovery (the Tories lead by 5 points, says the BBC), they bundle in to ruin his name, his wife, his reputation and possibly the entire party? Labour-leaning Mirror journalists couldn’t have done a better hatchet job. I suppose they all think they are better leaders. Maybe they are in their own opinion, but they are just as unproven a leader as Arnold Schwarzeneggar, and they certainly wouldn’t be as well-equipped for a swift bout down the dark alleys of Westminster.
Duncan Smith, defending his family, has been finally provoked into being the kind of tough leader the Tories wanted 2 years ago; it may be that the moral-free plotters have finally pulled the flokati rug from under his feet.

“He clipped me round the ear and said something nasty about my mother”. Bless David Beckham, the frustrated comic…

Robber, 91, admits third bank job. How VERY amusing.

Now, it’s time to promote October 26th. It’s a good day. It’s my birthday. If you feel fruity, you could take a browse of my Gimme section (housed snugly in the bottom right of the page there). Hell, I’ll even give you the links: things at Amazon, and things not at Amazon.
But enough pleading. I have SimCity 4 to play…

Public Whip – Counting votes on your behalf – keep track of those pesky MPs.

Poor, misguided Americans:Tony Blair for President, and, can you believe, Thank You Tony.
Makes you want to weep… (partially ripped from bloggerheads)

Saturday night was the long-awaited Lads Night Out. Nick, Jac and I gathered at Michelle’s house, and packed the respective girlfriends off to a bar. After Jac had displayed his finest photos from his recent holiday, and sufficiently shown off his tan, we ventured down the The Stoke, a newly revamped bar on the way to the town centre. I immediately decided to start with a bang, and asked the tiny barmaid for a pint and a chaser each. “A what?” asked Jac, clearly out of touch with drinking terms. “A chaser,” I repeated, as a pint of Fosters and a shot of sambuca appeared in front of him.
We sat down for an hour or so, chin-wagging about past events, and highlighting the amusing recent revelation that Nick calls his trouser truncheon “Mr Whippy”. Nick, tired of out ice-cream based genital gags, tried to ignore the subject and offered ideas for our forthcoming trip to Dublin. Now, as the trip is essentially an excuse to get drunk for my birthday, I’ve been a little worried about conspiracies and pranks. These were only confirmed during my next trip to the bar, when upon my return the coded discussion was based around “Plan B”. The crafty rascals.
After a few more pints, and a discussion about “Old Molenose”, we took in the sights of RSVP bar, and wandered down to the bars of Lower Guildford. We smashed pint glasses in Edwards, stole a jacket in Bar Med, and entered The Drink nightclub to find our girlfriends, sozzled in a corner. A few cocktails later, and the night closed in, swirling away in an alcoholic mist…
The hangover was admirable. Jac’s pictures of the night equally so – here they all are.

How to Write a Thank-You Note

A little bit of help for the new readers:
Looking for Premiership Rape? Here it is.
Looking for Derren Brown: Russian Roulette? Here it is.