Public Interest.co.uk

I'm not sure that I'd buy either the Indy or the Sindy for a quid, but those guys at the Mail must have more money than sense.

Still, the ramifications are intriguing, especially if they do the sensible thing and make Richard Littlejohn editor. He could start by calling them all into his office and demanding changes: Robert Fisk could do a column on cellulite, the Yazzmonster could write about Fern Britton, and Johann Hari could write something interesting.

Go on. It's only a quid.

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A week ago I listened to Ruth Kelly on the radio explaining how she had great hopes in fighting her seat, and, what with boundary changes and the great majesty and formidable intelligence of the one-eyed Scotsman, she was fully confident she would hold it come the general election. Now she's gone and bottled it. So, nice job in Brussels, then she comes back in four or five years' time as Lady Kelly to save the nation. We ain't seen the last of her, I reckon.

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Vengeance is a dish best served cold.

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For some reason this song came to me today. Any excuse really, but some of the words seem pertinent.

"But if your chance came would you take it?
Where on earth do I begin?...
With a smile as bright as sunshine...
The world was spinning like a ball
And then it wasn't there at all" etc.



Can't say I mind too much. All we need is the return of Stephen Byers and my happiness will be complete.

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I fear Polly is weakening her resolve:

"If ever there was need for Labour and its belief in strong government, it's now".

Come on, Pol. When has there ever not been the need for Labour and strong government? Show some bottle.

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I rather suspect that the sample size may be a little too small here. Fascinating enough as it is, but is 24 humans really enough to extrapolate some general theories about the negative aspects of atheism? I mean, of course it's plausible. Seeing the universe as an empty and totally pointless experience is enough to put anyone off his breakfast.
But at the very least, they could have shown them this picture for thirty seconds as well.
Or perhaps they'd have been snowed under with heart attacks.

I think more work is in order.

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So farewell then, Ruth Kelly.



Or is it au revoir?

I've had an on-off relationship with the dreaded Ruth. First, I despised her. Of course, I still do. But there's something else. All the best love affairs thrive on conflict, don't they?
Is it the weirdo religion? No. There's something perfectly logical for a socialist to be a bit of a fan of self mortification, after all. Is it the fact that she once went out with - however briefly - that ghastly little pillock David Miliband? Hardly. I know a lot of people have time for the giggly Foreign Secretary, and maybe when he was younger he was a bit of a charmer. But we all did sllly things when we were young and I'm glad to see she's put that youthful indiscretion behind her and got on with the process of rebuilding her life.

A lot of people seem to think this is it. She's got four little munchkins who need a mother's love ( maybe ). She's nursing a very tiny seat ( search me, gov. I can't see from here ). She's been bought off by the powers-that-be ( heaven forbid ).

I don't know. Alternatively, perhaps she's taken a gander across the pond, and seen how the delightful Ms Palin has gone down.


Maybe the mother of four could be the UK's answer to the gun-toting mother of five. She isn't going to keep her constituency from the backbenches. But as the incumbent Prime Minister, who knows? If she could just disappear for six months, remodel her hair, maybe have a boob job, perhaps Ms Kelly could reinvent herself as a new feminine feminist.

Maybe then, in the face of the rising tide of liberalism, compassion, socialism, David Cameron, and everything else, Britain might at long last have a Labour female Prime Minister. We've been waiting a long time, but at this dire moment in our nation's history, maybe Britain needs a return to traditional Catholic moral values.

Maybe Britain needs Ruth Kelly.

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It's what you get when a gril plays with your willy.

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Now is this the kind of revelation we can afford to see buried away in brackets? Alice Miles, discussing the Miliband Brothers lets this one slip:

(David himself had a brief fling with another aspiring young labourite, Ruth Kelly, now Transport Minister)

Holy Moses! I wonder what they got up to. Did they thrash themselves every week with whips dipped in wax?

Tell us more, please. We have a right to know. This is a future Prime Minister we could be talking about.

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Zoe Williams:

"Why don't lefties complain more?"

It's one of the world's great mysteries.

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There's only one thing more beautiful than Big Brother: the free market.

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