Oxo Tower snipers

A little warning to the budding Lee Harvey Oswalds who live in the Oxo Towers....I don't know who you are and I didn't see you but if natural justice does exist then, boy, are you guys going to get it?!

Perhaps I should explain. I'm back from campaigning for a wee while and was happily strolling down the South Bank to the Tate Modern. Enjoying the sunshine, day-dreaming a little and thinking 'Tis nice to be away from leaflets' I walked down the now familiar path by the Oxo Towers.

I looked at the pavement in front of me. There was a small puddle of water. Then....Whack! A snow-ball/ice-ball hit me in the stomach! And at considerable velocity too I might add! I've added the obligatory exclamation marks to indicate the drama of said occasion.

What gits?! It could have had my eye out (pause to consider the awful implications and then pause again to question if I'm being overly dramatic) and it certainly hurt.

Thankfully the Thimble is no stranger to pain - not with the football team he supports - and he adopted the 'I'm going to pretend that it didn't happen to me' response and strode manfully on (while cursing the blaggards who did it). A huge wet patch on the middle of his sweatshirt was a trophy of the event and one that the Thimble was delighted to receive.

Returning for a moment to the scene of the crime, one might reasonably conclude that the existence of a puddle could hint that some other poor soul was similarly targetted. That this was not a one-off. We are looking at serial offenders. From the speed of the missile in question - and the direction from where it came - I would surmise that a catapult or similar device was used and that it was deployed from the balcony of one of the flats in the Oxo Tower. I am still searching for a motive...

So, people, be careful. Walk along with your head permanently fixed skywards to scan for potential attackers. Wear a cagoule, waterproof trousers and a hard hat when walking by the Oxo Towers . And remain vigilant until I manage to get that ASBO slapped on this urban menace…

Our Man on the Campaign Trail...

Searing arguments over the very future of our nation. Dynamic election material which shakes off the bonds of apathy and drives a stake through the heart of cynicism. Posting leaflets.

Yep, posting leaflets. That's what I've been doing on the campaign trail so far and not a lot else. Posting thousands of leaflets. With my now ex-Member's face on it, details of Labour's economic successes and the almost obligatory posed piccie with Gordon Brown. A picture which is supposed to say 'look at your Labour candidate. He knows Gordon Brown. And look, he's actually talking to him about that blocked drain down your road.'

Campaign virgin that I am, I held vague notions before the campaign started that I'd be chewing the fat with party workers, discussing the issues of the day with the salt-of--earth people who make up the voters of the constituency, and fighting off political opponents in open steet battles...well, I thought I might be engaged in the first two anyway but I've seen precious little action so far.

Still, its gotta be done. And thousands of volunteers are doing the very same thing. So well done you and keep up the good work. Without you Labour wouldn't be able to win an election and thousands of grateful people would go without the material to line their cat's litter tray. So keep fighting the good fight.

Anyway. Enough of the preaching. I want to tell you about the ‘drama’ of my first week.

When I said I'd seen precious little action so far I was perhaps doing my self a disservice. On one of my leafletting expeditions I found myself subject to a potentially vicious attack. By a dog. I’d been leafleting in a run-down block of flats when the canine beast appeared from nowhere. At the time I thought the beast had jumped down from a hole in the ceiling but it must have been on the landing already - these heat-of-the-moment events can play tricks on your perception, your Honour - but, whatever, there was a dog and there was me and we weren’t bonding as Man and Master should.

You’ll be pleased to know that despite my fear I remained dedicated to the cause. I still managed to deliver the leaflets. Reaching over the dog – wow, he’s sooo brave – I deposited a leaflet in Flat No.3’s letterbox despite the aggressive barking (from the dog not the occupants of Flat No.3). The dog then, without any concern for the fundamental democratic right to expression, attacked me by biting at my jeans and jumping at me. Thankfully I managed to leg it out the block of flats and escape but I’m now paranoid that behind every door there lurks a dog determined to do me damage.

I’m sure many campaign helpers have had similar experiences – perhaps there should be a Campaigner’s Anonymous organisation for ‘victims’ to share their woes? – so I know I’m not alone. I shall stay strong. Remain brave. And make sure I take some dog biscuits with me next time.

It wasn’t all bad though. I put the dog down as a ‘Labour possible’ voter and was pleased his anger didn’t stem from intervention in Iraq…

I’m at a stall in the constituency at the weekend so maybe that will bring more worthy (and interesting) tales of human interaction my way. Rest assured that I shall keep you posted.

Not an election broadcast...

Occasional visitors to this site - is there any other kind? - will have noticed this blog offers a heady mix of political insight, insider gossip and sensational pictures.

Yep, I know. I've failed on all three counts. But, my good people, failure can be empowering. Look at Paula Radcliffe. Look at Ken Barlow. Look at Camilla Parker-Bowles (not for too long, mind). They've all suffered on the bumpy road of life and come out the other end. Fitter, stronger, better. Paula's running again, KB married the love of his life and CPB's got a honeymoon in Scotland.

My point, good people, is...well, I've forgotten my point but I now feel empowered by failure to blog some drivel about a tv programme. So here goes...

Channel 4. Friday night. One should be watching Newsnight. Actually one should be out of the house and enjoying the alcohol-fuelled revelry quaintly called a 'social life' but one isn't. Instead I was in, avec flatmate and the Princess, to watch the last twenty minutes of Playing It Straight.

It is easy to slag off Channel Four's output - and many may say this programme makes it even easier - but this programme was not without its charm.

Zoe is the girl, June Sarpong the presenter, and 10 guys are the bods supposedly playing it straight in this reality dating show. The aformentioned Zoe must pick her dream guy and try and ensure he's not one of the undisclosed number of homosexuals in the group. 'Ha, the intrigue' I don't hear you cry. But it is funny. If Zoe picks the straight guy then they both walk away with £50k...if not, then the gay cad who's tricked her into thinking he's her Gareth Gates rather than her Will Young will pocket £100 grand.

Its an amazingly interactive programme. Watching it will inevitably lead to screams of 'He's gay....oh he's gotta be gay' at every man who happens to be well toned, well dressed and well, a little bit gay-looking (and who happens to be on the programme... - don't adopt the same approach when you go out for a drink down the local tonight). My flatmate was reduced to saying 'He's gay' to every contestant and he seemed quite happy to carry this approach through to the adverts in between as well.

What I know the Observer's tv critic didn't say - quelle surprise - was that all the men on the show were utter cocks. This won't surprise the millions of women who meet these specimens - and millions of others like them - on a Saturday night in town but it does need to be said. Utter cocks, every man one of them. The show should be renamed 'Is he a cock or what?'. Not a witty suggestion but one which I think more fairly describes the choice which has befallen our Zoe.

One piece of advice I would offer is if you do watch this programme then tweak your aerial so the reception is rubbish. This worked brillantly on our telly and added to the fun. All the men looked as if they had perma-tans and a couple of inches of stubble while the leggy brunette looked dreadful. Which again, in its own bitter and inferior way, is empowering stuff for the man who doesn't quite look like the parade of fashion models on this show...

Towards the end of the show the weighty question was posed...."How is Zoe going to decide who is gay and who isn't?". My suggestion would be to see which ones are fucking each other and then tick them off the list.

With simple advice like this who needs a political blog. Thank you readers and vote Labour on May 5....

Westminster - The Mother of All Parliaments and The Payer of Crap Wages

(From Gallery News):

COMMONS: Union step up campaign for cleaners' pay
The Transport and General Workers Union have stepped up their challenge
today to the leaders of the main political parties and parliamentary
candidates to support the campaign for better pay for Palace of
Westminster cleaners.

Jack Dromey, Deputy General Secretary, said since launching the campaign
in February more than 250 MPs and peers have signed the Early Day Motion
in support of the campaign or written to offer support.
" That is welcome but we need now a commitment for action from all those
standing for parliament, " said Mr Dromey.

" The Early Day Motion (EDM) was put before the House of Commons by
Kevin McNamara MP. In it he recognised the invaluable and vital
contribution made by the cleaners and expressed dismay at
their low pay, as low as the minimum wage of £4.85 an hour, poor
holidays and no company sick pay or pension scheme.

" His motion called for the House authorities and the contractors that employ our cleaners to accept their claim for £6.70 per hour, 20 days
paid holiday per annum, company sick pay and a company pension to ensure
they receive a fair deal.

" Mr. McNamara's EDM has attracted not just the main cross party support
but the support of all political parties in the House of Commons. It is
believed to be the first time this has happened.

" The T&G will now be writing to the parliamentary candidates for all
the main political parties as well the party leaders. They will be
invited to affirm their support for the basic cleaners' claims and to
demand more money so the contractors can pay more.

" We are determined that the fine words and the declarations of support
are not swept under the carpet. While Parliament sleeps, our members
clean. They come from all over the world to look after the home of
democracy and it's a scandal that cleaners at the heart of parliamentary
democracy should earn the minimum wage."

ends