Word in your Ear

Yesterday, in the rush to get to my surgery in Abergele on time, I forgot my mobile phone. I didn’t realise it wasn’t with me until I tried to call home from the car and the cultured, slightly supercilious, voice of Miss Bluetooth™ solemnly advised me: “Service is not available.”

Momentarily disoriented, I cursed and stupidly tried to make another call on the impotent handsfree to ask Sara if she would look at the calendar (also stored on the mobile) and let me have details of my 12 o’clock appointment. When it hit me that I couldn't do that, I felt both foolish and - despite being less than five miles from home - strangely lost.

The fact is that if any single object is, by reason of its ubiquity, more representative than any other of these strange early years of the twenty-first century, it is the mobile phone. It is an integral part of all our lives. So if you leave home without it, you’re pretty well knackered.

My BlackBerry™ holds my life in its sleek, black plastic shell. It is my diary, my alarm clock, my camera and my mailbox. It is, with its built-in Brickbreaker game, my occasional relief from the tedium of the half hour wait at Crewe station on winter Sunday evenings. It is my pocket notepad and address book. Oh, and it’s my phone, too.

I couldn’t live without my BlackBerry™. I can’t say I like it. The bleep of an arriving e-mail when I’m busy enough anyway has frequently driven me to despair. But I just couldn’t live without it.

However, if I think I’m already too dependent on my moby, I ain’t seen nothing yet. This morning, as I lay in my bath, I listened to an interview on Radio 4’s Broadcasting House with a man called Martin Cooper. No, I’d never heard of him either. But it turned out that Dr Cooper (the bearded gentleman at the top of the page) was none other than the inventor of the mobile phone. It was he who made the first ever telephone call from a street to a landline. Accordingly, it is he who has a more than arguable claim to the title of Father of the Modern World.

Sure, he said, he knew when he made that first phone call (wonder what was the topic of conversation?) that the prototype device in his hand was going to develop into something big. Not just big, but mega. Bigger than Elvis. Everyone would have one. And everyone, consequently, would be accessible.

And no, he never thought that that was a bad idea. Moving was the most natural thing in the world. Everybody did it all the time. And communicating was just as natural. So why not put the two together?

In fact, he went on to say, if wireless communication had come off the drawing board before the fixed-line telegraph, it was doubtful that the landline phone would ever have been invented at all; what, after all, was the point of tethering yourself to an immovable object in order to talk to someone?

Well, he does have a point. In fact, the only advantage I can see to a landline phone is that you’re not likely to forget it, as I did with my mobile on my way to Abergele yesterday.

But Dr Cooper has an answer to that, too. Within the next twenty years, he said, we will see phones developed that will be small enough to be implanted directly in our ears and powered by the natural electricity generated by our bodies (apparently we have a surfeit of the stuff). So our phones will always be there, always switched on.

So, if Dr Cooper is right (and he’s been bang on about everything so far) all of us will be reachable at all times, day or night, wherever we are on the globe. There will be no excuse for not taking a call, other than death. Our phones will literally die with us.

Not sure if I wholly like the idea, and no doubt there will be practical problems (such as what happens if it gets wet in the shower?).

But, on the other hand, I don’t like Miss Bluetooth™ telling me that “service is not available”, either.

Pray God

According to the Telegraph, early indications from Zimbabwe suggest that Robert Mugabe may have been defeated at the general election.

Pray God that they are right. And pray God, too, that Mugabe will accept the judgment of his people and not try to hang on to power in that beautiful, devastated country.

Speechless

The Orwellian-sounding Ministry of Justice has today admitted that it has released two criminals convicted of terrorism offences early in order to ease prison overcrowding.

Yassin Nassari left Wakefield Prison in February, after being jailed last summer for three and a half years. The other criminal is believed to be Abdul Muneem Patel, who was jailed for six months at the Old Bailey in October, 2007, after a jury found him guilty of having a terrorism-related explosives manual.

Sometimes the incompetence of this government beggars belief.

Bad Day at the Office

Gordon Brown announced today that he will, after all, be letting Labour MPs have a free vote on three of the most contentious provisions of the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Bill.

In doing so, he was in truth bowing to the inevitable, given that at least three of his cabinet ministers, including Welsh Secretary Paul Murphy, had signalled that they would resign if any attempt was made to prevent them voting with their consciences.

The climbdown will not, however, be the end of the story. David Cameron has twice challenged the Prime Minister to allow his MPs a free vote and received only evasive answers. Gordon will therefore once again be justifiably open to the accusation of dithering over difficult issues

Worse still, it may be that the government will now be defeated on key elements of what has been talked up as a flagship Bill. If so, the PM will look even weaker.

All in all, a bad day for Gordon.

Darling Llama

I have blogged previously about my admiration for Matthew Parris, one of the finest of contemporary commentators, and make no apology whatever for mentioning him again.

In today’s Times, Parris surpasses even his own habitually high standards, with a powerful, lyrical piece in which he muses on the strange, uncertain economic and political times in which we find ourselves.

I won’t spoil it for you, but do urge you to read it. I particularly liked his reference to “the Chancellor, Alistair Darling, with the sweet, shallow eyes of one of my llamas, strangely uncomprehending, registering not even fear, as he stands blank, passive and passionless at the dispatch box”.

I watched Darling closely as he delivered his budget. Parris could not have evoked him more precisely.

Rank Stupidity

Today’s Telegraph carries an extraordinary story (which must be true, because April Fool’s day is over a week away) about Bournemouth Borough Council, which has suspended 101 taxi drivers who refused to undergo a BTEC course in “Transporting Passengers By Taxi and Private Hire”.

The taxpayer-funded course requires, inter alia, that cabbies should learn how best to lift a suitcase (carry out a "risk assessment" by sizing up the shape of the load, the surrounding environment and their fitness level), how to greet passengers ("hello Mrs Smith, nice to see you again" or "good morning, how are you?" might be appropriate) and how to read body language (“body language”?). The recalcitrant drivers will be reinstated only if they complete the course and pass the exam within the next two months.

I like taxi drivers. I make a point of speaking to them whenever and wherever I am in a cab. They are invariably plain-speaking, sensible and forthright. They are also comprehensively endowed with common sense, which must in itself call into question the need for the qualification.

Speaking like a true cabbie, Frank Shaw, 67, who has driven a taxi in Bournemouth for 25 years, said:

"About 80 per cent of what you have to learn on this course is either completely ridiculous or just not relevant.

"I know how to greet a customer and lift a suitcase - I don't need a piece of paper to prove that.

"The council has always been happy to give me a licence in the past and I have never had a complaint made against me."

I had thought of putting this story in Healthansafety Corner, but decided against it, because it actually transcends healthansafety, combining, as it does, standard healthansafety nannying (how to lift a suitcase) with the new element of otiose hectoring (how to say “hello” to people).

It is, consequently, an exciting development, and Bournemouth council are to be warmly congratulated on being at the forefront of a pioneering new phase in this quintessentially British industry.

Alas, Smith!

Readers may be interested in the following exchange at this morning's Questions to the Leader of the House:

25. Mr. David Jones (Clwyd, West) (Con): What assessment she has made of the completeness of information given in answers to parliamentary questions. [195469]

The Deputy Leader of the House of Commons (Helen Goodman): As I have stated in the past, the Leader of the House keeps the quality of Ministers’ answers to written parliamentary questions under continuous review.

Mr. Jones: On the assumption that every Whitehall Department has now abandoned the traffic light system that was formerly used to filter out embarrassing questions, will the hon. Lady confirm that she will use her good offices to urge the Treasury to provide me with an unambiguous answer to questions that I have tabled today about the use of No. 11 Downing street by charities, including the Smith Institute, rather than the obfuscatory ones that I have received hitherto?

Helen Goodman: As the hon. Gentleman is aware, all Ministers understand the importance of answering parliamentary questions fully, truthfully and in a timely manner. He has only just tabled those questions, so I am sure that he can expect an answer in accordance with the usual timetable.

So perhaps I will find out how many charities used 11 Downing Street, and on how many occasions!

Readers will be kept fully briefed.

Drop them a line

Spoke yesterday in the opposition day debate on post office closures. The issue is a huge one for all MPs. Because time was limited, I focused on the impact that the closure programme will have on the rural parts of Clwyd West.

The debate was extremely well attended and there was a substantial Labour rebellion. It was insufficient, however, to defeat the government, which won by a majority of only 20. In other words, if 11 Labour MPs had voted with the opposition, the motion would have been passed. This would have come as a considerable relief to every community facing the loss of its post office, which is frequently also its only shop.

Now here’s a funny thing. The text of the motion was very similar indeed to that of Early Day Motion 997. A total of 35 Labour MPs signed EDM 997, so one might have expected that they would also support the opposition motion in the debate. However, extraordinarily enough, 17 of them supported the government. Very odd.

As a service to readers, I have appended the names of the 17 non-rebels. If you see your own MP among them, you may wish to write to him / her and ask for an explanation of his / her actions.

John Austin
Karen Buck
Michael Clapham
Frank Cook
Bill Etherington
Joan Humble
Brian Jenkins
Lynne Jones
Gordon Marsden
Doug Naismith
Greg Pope
Linda Riordan
Joan Ryan
Mohammad Sarwar
Andy Slaughter
Lynda Waltho
Betty Williams

Say Sorry to Nellie

Age Concern North Wales Central have written to draw my attention to a Daily Post report of a recent North Wales Police Authority meeting, at which a chief superintendent said that “elderly drivers who are a menace to others should be advised not to get behind the wheel.”

The officer went on to say:

“I am aware that there are sensitivities involved but some of these drivers should not be on the road.

“Families and friends should consider having a word with ‘Great Aunt Nellie’ and telling her that perhaps it is time to hand in her licence.”

Age Concern rightly point out that for an organisation that prides itself on its respect for diversity, North Wales Police’s attitude to older drivers is just a tad un-PC.

They are, of course, quite right. The simple fact is that ALL drivers who are a menace to others should be advised not to get behind the wheel. In fact, they shouldn’t be allowed to do so.

But to equate age with unfitness to drive is just plain wrong. Older drivers are likely to be more considerate and less likely to take stupid risks than young ones. Certainly, they may have health problems that interfere with their ability to drive, but so may younger people, and they are obliged to undergo periodic medical check-ups to prove their fitness.

Ageism appears to be the only form of discrimination that is tolerated these days. It just won’t do. Age Concern are entirely right to be upset and North Wales Police should, in all decency, say sorry to Great Aunt Nellie.

Health Worries

The Welsh Select Committee’s inquiry into “cross-border” public services continues to fascinate.

Today, we heard evidence from Mr Tom Taylor, an impressive, bluff northerner who is the chief executive of the Shrewsbury and Telford Hospitals NHS Trust.

The Royal Shrewsbury hospital (where, incidentally, Sara trained) serves a large area that straddles the border. 60,000 people in Powys are its potential patients.

Mr Taylor explained that English primary care trusts pay on a “payment by results” basis, whereas Welsh commissioners operate a block payment system; the Trust is losing £2 million per annum as a consequence.

He also touched on the theme that has already been repeated by several witnesses: that Welsh-resident patients can expect to wait considerably longer for treatment than English residents, because of less ambitious target waiting times in Wales.

Mr Taylor suggested that an element of the Welsh block grant sufficient to provide for payment to English providers at the full rate should be ring-fenced. This would ease the financial difficulties of English hospitals. It might also result in improved waiting times for Welsh patients. This is an interesting suggestion and deserves further consideration.

What is certain, however, is that disparities in health funding are breeding resentment on the part of both patients and providers. This, in itself, is unhealthy. It should be addressed.

Silly Bloggers

O, my prophetic soul!

In light of the “Civil Serf” blogging case, I tabled a series of questions to a number of Whitehall departments, asking what guidelines were given to officials on both authoring and commenting on blogs.

Now, according to the Mail, “Civil Serf”, who is apparently a 33 year-old official in the DWP, has been both identified and suspended. The Cabinet Office is, the Mail tells us, issuing “guidelines to civil servants to cover insider blogging or comments left on online social networks such as Facebook.”

It is notorious that special advisers, those half-breed chimaeras who are both civil servants and party animals, are active anonymous bloggers. A lot of them will be sweating copiously just now.

Expect more fallout from the “Civil Serf” case. I'll keep you posted.

Talking Balls

Though a confirmed devotee of the spherical ball, I could not resist tuning in to witness Wales’s emphatic completion of the Grand Slam with the ovoid variety at the Millennium Stadium yesterday. It was a delight to watch and reminded me of the 1970s, when even I would make regular forays to the Arms Park and Twickenham, following what is generally regarded as the best Welsh international side ever.

On one memorable occasion in 1975, in the company of my friend Wyn Jones, now Plaid Cymru leader in the Welsh Assembly, I even journeyed in a rented white minivan to Murrayfield, where, alas, the Scots prevailed 12 -10, and we were left depressed and roomless for the night (we hadn’t thought that far ahead).

So, overall, I was pretty pleased to see Wales back on top again. If it carries on like this I may even watch more rugby next year. But not if the consequence of a Welsh victory is another example of verbal incontinence such as this from Rhodri Morgan:

"This team is playing with a ruthless defensive efficiency, combined with traditional Welsh attacking flair.

"What Warren Gatland and Shaun Edwards have done is to turn the men in red into men of steel, just like the Welsh teams of the golden years thirty years ago.

"We can now all say proudly that we are the champions of Europe and champions of the Northern Hemisphere. Bring on the Southern Hemisphere."

Why does Rhodri Morgan feel obliged to use almost every passing occasion as an opportunity for an outpouring of international-standard hyperbole and world-class, free-form drivel?

Can’t he just learn to enjoy the warm feeling of quiet, smug satisfaction at having stuffed not only the English, but (best of all!) the French, too?

Going with a bang(er)

Doing my bit as part of British Tourism Week, I visited the beautiful Hiraethog area of my constituency. Under the friendly direction of master butcher Alun Jones, of Cig y Llan, Cerrigydrudion, I made a string of sausages (much harder than it sounds), feeling a bit like a contestant in the Generation Game.

Then on to Hafod Elwy Hall, where we were treated to a magnificent buffet (including the sausages) and took in the impressive vista of the snow-capped foothills of Snowdonia.

An interlude in the week as far away from the frenetic pace of Westminster as one could imagine.

Yet it is for this place and its people that I am there. Coming back and doing stuff like this (corny as it sounds) makes it all worthwhile.

Mogadon Man

I may, on some occasion in my life, have been more bored, but, if I have, I really can’t remember it.

Alistair Darling’s first Budget was a masterclass in dullness. If tedium was an Olympic event, he would be assured of a ticket to Beijing, with the prospect of a place on the podium.

It was simply awful.

It may, of course, have been calculated. Perhaps Alistair was deliberately lulling us into a stupor. If so, his incantation of “stability, stability” certainly did the trick. By the end of his fifty minutes (which seemed much longer), I had lost the will to live.

But I was not so stupefied that I didn’t twig what Alistair was up to. He was droning on about stability because, in truth, he had nothing to say, at least nothing that would come as good news to anyone still listening. He couldn’t offer any relief to those who are buckling under the strain of the ever-increasing tax burden, because he is skint, spent up and on his uppers himself. His public spending commitments (ignoring the unforeseen little local difficulty called Northern Rock) give him no room for largesse. All he can do is take.

So he is going to jack up the tax on beer, wine and spirits (bang go more local pubs). He is going to hammer owners of large family cars (serve you right for having a family). He is going to start charging for the use of roads (don't live in the countryside). And he is going to give the non-doms a good turning over (what makes them think we need them, anyway?).

There will be a few bob extra for poorer families, by way of additional tax credit, but they will still lose the benefit of the 10 per cent band. Oh, and there will be a small increase in winter fuel payments for pensioners - but it will be a one-off.

Otherwise, there was no cheer, just gloom, gloom, gloom.

In short (which is something Alistair Darling has never been known to say), it was a bloody awful Budget.

Bad Idea

Gordon’s latest “Britishness” wheeze, fronted to the media today by the former Attorney General, Lord Goldsmith, is to require all school leavers to swear an oath of allegiance to HM the Queen.

Like most of Gordon’s ersatz patriotism, including the frenetic flag-wagging, the idea is no more than a fig leaf to conceal the deep damage caused to this country, its constitution and its values by eleven years of Labour rule.

I’d be entirely happy to swear an oath of allegiance to her Majesty – indeed, I already have. But I don’t need to do so to feel British or to love my country. That is something innate, as it is for the vast majority of our population.

And if those who don’t love our country or don’t feel British are asked to swear an oath, they will either kick up a fuss and refuse to do so, which will be highly embarrassing for Gordon, or will go through the motions, in which case the whole procedure won’t amount to a hill of beans.

It is, quite simply, a stupid, bad Labour idea, founded upon desperation. Mark my words, like so many other stupid, bad Labour ideas, it will be quietly dropped.

Kneed

Bullseye for my friend Cheryl Gillan this afternoon.

We were descending the stairs leading from the tearoom when we encountered a well-known, left-leaning political journalist.

“How are you, darling?” Cheryl enquired.

“In agony,” groaned the journo. “My knees are playing up.”

“Too much genuflecting to Gordon,” Cheryl sweetly replied.

No Escape from Predatory Snake

The Times also carries a fascinating article about an evolutionary battle between a toxic newt and its predator snake.

The rough-skinned newt, in a determined attempt to defend itself, has learned to produce a toxin so deadly that a single specimen's can kill a roomful of people.

You might have thought that that would render it predator-proof. The garter snake, however, has evolved so as to develop total resistance to the toxin, so that it is able to treat a rough-skinned newt much as it would a plate of canapés. There is no escape for the poor newt, despite its best endeavours to arrange its affairs in as prudent and efficient a manner as possible.

There must be a moral to the story that doesn’t involve Alistair Darling and tax demands, but I’m finding it hard to think of one.

Just Can't Cope

An interesting survey in today’s Times reports that: “Restaurants, car dealers and shops are facing a bleak time as people feel the effects of a faltering economy.”

The survey, which has attracted over 2,500 responses, finds that 58 per cent are more likely than last year to check supermarket prices, 54 per cent are eating out less often and 55 per cent are buying new clothes less frequently. Most tellingly, perhaps, 36 per cent are more worried than last year about losing their jobs.

Some of the respondents’ comments are telling, too. Here is a selection:

“I am unable, even though I’m in full-time employment, to buy a shared ownership property or have a holiday. It is almost a hand-to-mouth existence. I have never felt so badly off.”

"Income tax, council tax crippling me. Single income family, elderly wife at home, two children at university. No disposable income whatsoever after all expenditure. Minimal heating. One pint in a pub a year. Last holiday 1998. Car 13 years old. Last restaurant meal 2000."

“I think there is a split between those who have made money in property, paid off their mortgages, and those of us who are faced with paying off student loans while trying to raise vast amounts of money to buy ourselves somewhere to live. I am a lawyer earning good money, yet I can’t afford to buy somewhere to live — has there ever been a point in history where this would be the case?”

The survey makes depressing reading, but it bears out my own experience. Constituents, friends and colleagues tell me that they are feeling the pinch. Fuel bills, in particular, are a significant worry. I recently had a delivery of central heating oil that cost me £500. A couple of years ago, it was over £200 less.

There has been much media interest recently in the phenomenon of the “coping classes” – those who enjoy a reasonable headline income, yet are struggling with an ever-mounting burden of tax, mortgage interest, fuel costs, and so on. The Times survey tends to suggest that the phenomenon is a real one, not simply a feature editor’s frolic.

And many just aren’t coping any more.

Liquid Asset

The Evening Standard has for the last few weeks been running a campaign to persuade people to ask for a jug of tap water when they eat at a restaurant, and eschew the snazzy bottled stuff.

The paper today published a mass of worrying statistics about our weakness for bottled H2O. Apparently, Britons drink three billion bottles of water every year, of which half a billion come from overseas. Transporting bottled water produces an estimated 32,200 tonnes of carbon dioxide, equivalent to the annual energy use of 6,000 homes.

All this is sobering stuff (as, indeed, is water itself) and I am happy to say that at home, where the water supply is sourced from the pristinely pure Llyn Cowlyd, I have no problem with drinking whatever comes out of the tap.

But London? London tap water tastes vile. It has probably been recycled at least half a dozen times. It has a metallic pungency that instantly repels.

So sorry, Standard. I’m sure you mean well. But I’m afraid that if I’m eating in London, I’ll carry on asking for Evian (even if it is “naive” spelt backwards). Or, better still, Decantae (which is produced in Clwyd West).

Northern Aspect

To Worsley, Greater Manchester, where I spoke to the Salford Conservative Association (leading light, my fellow blogger, Iain Lindley).

Thoroughly enjoyed the evening and the supper at the Bridgewater Arms.

A few of those present told me that they had relatives living in Colwyn Bay or Rhos on Sea. The traditional links between Manchester and this area are still very strong. We mustn’t forget that Colwyn Bay was built on Manchester cotton money and I am very pleased that the close family connections continue to this day.

One of the lads

Here’s one in the eye for those who think that bloggers such as I and Peter Black are sad, dysfunctional, introvert, no-mate geeks who should get out more and interact with real people.

Research conducted at Swinburne University of Technology, Melbourne, concludes that blogging can help you feel "less isolated, more connected to a community and more satisfied with your friendships, both online and face-to-face".

The study found that:

“Bloggers reported a greater sense of belonging to a group of like-minded people and feeling more confident they could rely on others for help.”

All this is good to know, although I have to say that, as a political blogger, I tend, almost by definition, to disagree with most of my colleagues, so “like-minded” is not, perhaps, precisely the right word.

I’m sure, however, that I could call upon David Cornock for support if ever I found myself in a really tight spot.

On the fence

The vote on the Lisbon Treaty referendum was lost, but the moral victory won. The duplicitous Labour party will deservedly lose the next general election and the devious Lib Dems will be consigned to the electoral oblivion they merit. Both parties broke the pledges they made to the electorate in their manifestos and will rightly be punished. Indeed, Nick Clegg's leadership of his party is already in tatters, with three of his front benchers resigning.

William Hague’s speech was excellent, funny and poignant. His contempt for the Lib Dems is illustrated in the following extract from his speech (mentally accentuate the word “shrill” as you read it):

Mr. Hague: Let me finish my point about the Liberal Democrats before I take a further intervention.

The leader of the Liberal Democrats should be true to his original conviction. When he wrote in The Guardian on 15 October 2003, as a Member of the European Parliament, he attacked the Government for

“dismissing all calls for a referendum”

and

“playing straight into the hands of the Eurosceptics.”

He said:

“Nothing will do more damage to the pro-European movement than giving room to the suspicion that we have something to hide, that we do not have the ‘cojones’ to carry our argument to the people.”

An explanation of why the Liberal Democrat leadership’s protests in the debates have become ever more shrill is that, at some point in recent months, they have become separated from their cojones. Those unfortunate objects are now to be found impaled on a distant fence.

Incomparable.

Local Difficulties

Today, the Welsh Select Committee’s inquiry into the cross-border provision of public services got under way with an evidence session attended by the Bishops of Hereford and Monmouth. Both are erudite men with medical backgrounds and a highly developed social ethos.

The general thrust of what they told us was that patients in the border areas and beyond were suffering as a consequence of both funding and political disparities between England and Wales. As the Bishop of Monmouth, with clerical understatement, put it: “The WAG policy to provide all services from within Wales can run counter to its policy of putting patients first.”

The extent to which common sense is eclipsed by dogma in Cardiff Bay is illustrated by the following extract from the Bishop’s submission to the committee:

“Another example of where policy appears to come before patients’ interests is that clergy and their families in Wales can no longer use St Luke’s Hospital for the Clergy in London because Wales will not pay for any tests that need to be carried out in London but only for tests carried out in Wales. St Luke’s is a charity hospital that does not charge fees and the consultants give their services free of charge. The use of St Luke’s Hospital would save Wales about £300,000 a year and free up beds, because St Luke’s would not charge Wales for consultations, surgery or hospitalisation, but only for tests.”

This is a lunatic state of affairs, but it no doubt makes perfect sense to the Welsh health minister, Edwina Hart.

Cut and Thrust

The hospital parking issue has developed into a highly entertaining spat between the junior health minister, Ben Bradshaw, and his WAG counterpart, Edwina Hart. Both are members of the Labour party, but you'd never guess it from the following remarks:

Bradshaw:

"We don't think it makes sense to spend money that's currently being spent on patient care - getting people treated faster and better - on subsidising car parks.

"If that's what Scotland and Wales want to do, that's one of the joys of devolution.

"We're spending the money on improving patient care.

"In Wales, you have to wait much longer for your operation; you have to wait much longer in A & E.

"You're not going to enjoy the extended GP opening hours that patients in England are soon going to be enjoying.

"Those are the priorities that we think the English patients are more interested in, rather than subsidising anyone who wants to park in a hospital car park for free."

Hart:

"The statement actually sounds like sour grapes from the Department of Health because they've been probably having a lot of flak because they haven't looked at these issues themselves."

Poor Bradshaw; how utterly defeated he must feel after his exposure to Edwina’s devastating, rapier-like debating skills.

Not-so-free Parking

Today, we hear that the Welsh Assembly Government has decided to outlaw car park charges in hospitals. I heartily approve; I have always thought that to charge patients, their families, and medical staff for parking was, on the one hand, a tax on illness and, on the other, an additional layer of tax on earnings.

However, WAG is not, I understand, compensating the hospital trusts for the income they will lose. This will, I fear, result in yet a further decline in hospital services in Wales.

WAG could, of course, scrap the bizarre free prescription programme, under which people who can afford to pay for their medicines get them for nothing. To do so would not affect the young, the elderly or those in receipt of benefit, because they get their prescriptions free of charge anyway. It would, however, free up some £30 million for patient care.

But, since WAG is run by an unholy socialist alliance of Labour and Plaid, it won’t happen. And waiting lists in Wales will continue to grow and grow.

And if you are interested in the current state of those waiting lists, I can tell you that in England (pop. 50,762,900) the number of patients waiting for their first outpatient appointment for over 13 weeks is 82.

In Wales (pop. 2,965,900) the number is 47,698.

At least you’ll be able to park free while you wait.

An offer I can't refuse

I have today received the following exciting e-mail, which I felt compelled to share with readers:

"Notification of Bequest On behalf of the Trustees and Executor of the Estate of Late Luciano Pavoratti, I hereby attempt to reach you again .I wish to notify you that late Luciano Pavoratti made you a beneficiary to his will. He left the sum of thirty one Million five Hundred Thousand Dollars. ($31,500,000.00) to you in the codicil and last testament to his will. This may sound strange and unbelievable to you, but it is real and true. Late Luciano Pavoratti until his death was a very dedicated Christian who loved to give out. His great philanthropy earned him numerous awards during his life time, Late Luciano Pavoratti died at the age of 71 years. According to him this money is to support your activities and to help the poor and the needy. Please You should fill the information below for more directives 1.Full Name 2.Telephone number, 3.Age 4.contact address/Country 5.occupation Yours In Service, Bill Kennedy(Esq) Tel.+44-7031964668"

Whilst feeling more than a little gratified, I am also more than a little perplexed. Not only have I never met the late Signor Pavoratti, I was also unacquainted with his near-namesake, the great tenor Luciano Pavarotti, although I was a great admirer of his work.

Since I am rather tied up with preparation for my Welsh conference speech tomorrow, perhaps one of my readers could contact Mr Kennedy at the telephone number so helpfully supplied and obtain further and better particulars of the bequest. I will be more than happy to pay a small commission of, say, ten per cent of any sums received as a consequence.