Wednesday September 12th: Today is the first time, it's all looked to be getting a bit much for Gordon. The referendums, the wage argument and the Return of Foot And Mouth aka The Night of The Dribbling Herd Part II. They're all demanding his time and attention. This is when Diet Blair's job gets easy. When he can simply sit back and point out all the things that Gordon is doing wrong. Oh, to be an Armchair Prime Minister.
How long have we before the sullen brute that Alastair Campbell, alluded to and then edited out of his memoirs, comes out to play? Will he enter the House Of Commons as Minister Jekyll and leave it as Emperor Hyde. All it will take is one too many glib remarks from Dave and Gordon will snap his neck like kindling, before seizing the Mace (Heseltine Style) and smacking Sir Menzies for six with it.
A second case of foot and mouth has been diagnosed, again, just down the road from where I am writing this, and again it's looking like 'fowl play' may be a-foot. We may yet go to 'Def-Cow 5'. The question you've got to ask is: How did it get there? That's a little way to travel across Surrey, but I doubt that the scourge of British livestock, is able to take advantage of the county's excellent public transport system (no pockets to keep change in, y'see).
I can't seem to shake this vision I'm having, of someone wearing an all-in-one radioactive protection suit, skipping down country lanes and sprinkling virus in all the hedgerows, like something out of an apocalyptic version of a Midsummer Night's Dream.
Tonight, I have also been pondering the case of Madeleine McCann, after talking with a friend about it. I came to the conclusion that I'd rather her parents weren't guilty of her murder - accidental, or otherwise - because if they did do it, I would have to admit that I am absolutely floored by the lengths to which people will go to keep up a pretence. Could you imagine meeting The Pope, with that on your conscience? If that was me, I'd have to confess right there. I'm not Catholic but I'd feel I had to. If it turns out they are guilty, this would be like The Simpsons episode with Little Timmy in the well.
My friend believes that the parents are in some way guilty, and points to the Portugese police's insistence that British sniffer dogs and crime labs be used, so that if there is any bombshell to be dropped, they are well and truly out of the blast radius when it lands. No matter how twisted you think either argument is, we reached agreement on the fact that we hoped they hadn't done it and that their daughter might be somewhere, unharmed. However, we live in an exceedingly cold world....
Prince is back on it tonight, with a show to follow on Sunday, then we're into the final week. It doesn't seem like a month ago when he first came up through the floor, strumming Purple Rain, more than likely high on oxygen and queasy from eating black M&M's. I'm almost curious as to where he's been hiding himself all this time. Once the mini-bar has been emptied and you've watched Pirates Of The Caribbean on the Pay-Per-View channels a few times, the mind must begin to wander. He's had every chance to do something truly rock-star-weird, but he hasn't risen to the bait. All part of getting older, I guess...
I've been pulling double duty tonight. Not only do you get your daily dosage of verve and panache, but I also finished off an interview with the good people at Bishbo - a London based design studio for Canada's finest online publication, Format Magazine (http://www.formatmag.com/ , for the interested). I'm their London correspondent, don't you know....
PS - I wasn't aware that there was such a cult following behind the guy in today's picture. People have drawn pictures and made models out of Fredrick March's interpretation of the 'beast within'. I was shown Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde starring March, for English A-Level. That shit was hilarious. I even stayed up late to record it after I left school when I saw it was on BBC2 one night.
Why? Because it's classic material.
The make-up was straight Planet Of The Apes before Planet Of The Apes. And the script included real talk such as "Why don't you sing? Why don't you dance? My little bird, my dove?" Killer. This film signified the dawn of method acting. Forget Bobby and Marlon. They bit Freddy. March must have sat in the ape enclosure at London Zoo everyday for months to get some of those moves down. Check out the busted dentures, as well. The only way you can get teeth like that is by eating doo-doo covered bricks for breakfast. Frederick March's Mr. Hyde face was on the box for Kellogs Shitty Pebbles.
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