What in the name of chuffing hell?

I know I should be blogging about the Wendy Alexander resignation but, frankly, I can't be arsed. The woman got done for accepting a private donation that totals less than the Bullingdon Club probably spend on canapes in freshers' week (o! the horror!), and the right wet themselves in the mass excitement of being the first to label her "more corrupt than Richard Nixon." And yet on Caroline Spelman (who decided unilaterally in 1997 that getting LOADSA money off the taxpayer for childcare was actually okay ... but only if you're a Tory MP rather than a member of the hoi polloi) they are oddly silent.

And as for all the mofos on the left who have been agonising over "what Henley means for the Gord" I advise you to:

(a) get a f*cking grip. It's Henley for chuff's sake where we've consistently come last. In fact, not only did we get more votes in Henley in 2008 after a difficult couple of months (1,066) than we did in Winchester following a by-election a mere six months after a Labour landslide in 1997 (944) but our share of the vote was greater as well (3.1 to 1.7); and

(b) consider that if you had actually got off your arses and turned up in Henley to deliver a couple of leaflets we might NOT have been beaten by the BNP. There was only a couple of hundred votes in it but, interestingly, the sharp-suited Ruperts who had aspired to be "Tony's" right hand man and the poshly-voiced Jocastas with the framed pictures of Alistair Campbell on their desks seem to have other commitments now that being a member of the Labour party means actual work as opposed to merely mincing around wielding mobile phones and trying to look important.

I'm now off for a lie-down in a darkened room. Nurse! The screens!