Hazel's Blear-ting for the wrong reasons

QUESTION: What matters most to a politician? Their party? Their politics? Themselves?

Ok, that's a bit harsh - perhaps rather like asking if every GP secretly harbours a hidden intent to do a Harold Shipman.

But Hazel Blears hasn't helped the cause of politicians much this week, has she?

Turning up at a protest against maternity ward closures in her constituency might at first seem the work of an MP who is just keen to raise the profile of a cause evidently close to the hearts of many of her constituents.

Yet look at the cause of the the planned closures - swapping local maternity services for super-regional ones covering larger catchment areas - and it's possible to track the policy right to the very top.

To the ruling Labour Party, in fact, of which Hazel Blears is chairman, or chairwoman, if we're going to be uber-PC and New Labour about it.

Now as chairwoman of the Labour Party, Hazel Blears is responsible for maintaining party order - but I'm not too bothered about that.

After all, she wasn't elected to maintain party rule, she was elected to represent the people in her constituency - a point she made in her defence this week.

But she's also a member of the cabinet, and such closures as the ones she is opposed to, must have been discussed at Cabinet level, probably under as part of 'NHS Reform.'

Perhaps no-one was listening to Patricia Hewitt as she spelt out her plans because maybe the entire Cabinet switches off as quickly as the rest of us when we hear her patronising tones charging through the air.

Perhaps, but I doubt it. So, following that train of though, Ms Blears has let this one go through, along with her colleagues, either not knowing the local implications (which she can't really be expected to, although it's arguable the Department of Health should have known) or not actually asking.

She certainly didn't voice overall concern about it at the time - not in public, at least. She's a paid representative of the people of Salford, and if she's opposing something, she should be doing so in public, not in 'private meetings' to save Party face.

Remember your primary job, Hazel!

So that now leaves us with the question as to why Ms Blears has suddenly appeared on the protest lines, showing the people of Salford that she knows about their concerns?

Could it be, possibly, because three of the Salford constituencies are being merged into two, including hers, and with one of the constituencies already choosing their Labourite for the next campaign - not Hazel - there's every danger that come the next General Election, she'll have no constituents to represent at all?

You'll like this Paul - but not a lot

RATHER like newspapers filling their pages with 'reviews of the year' between Christmas and New Year to fill space, ITV has taken to filling its airtime with 'best of' programmes.

Some have been quite amusing - but not for the reasons intended.

Take 'Best Ever Spitting Image,' last night. Among the great and the good Talking Heads on the programme was Paul Daniels, who was repeatedly mocked on sketches including 'One Man and His Wig.'

He could handle that, could PD, but he discovered the programme's 'dark side' when the sketches included him ripping open wife Debbi Magee's dress and nuzzling into her every week.

He argued that once something loses its credibility, it is no longer worth watching.

And he said it without a trace of irony too.

Because Paul Daniels himself knows there is life after credibility. It's called Celebrity X Factor.

Would you BeeGee-ieve it?

At what point of the year do you think Cherie Blair comes bounding up the stairs, wide eyed and even wider-mouthed, and with a copy of Who's Who, into Tony Blair's office?

Interupting his work on the situation in Iraq, congestion charging, or perhaps most pressingly, his legacy, do they sit down in front of the fire, open said book and start picking who they should tap up for a holiday?

Or do they have access to ITV's back catalogue of "Through the Keyhole," giving them a 15-minute rundown of the glitzy homes owned by the rich and famous. Presumably, they have access to the American series too, because I don't remember ITV forking out to send its crew round Bee Gee star Robin Gibb's home near Miami.

I mean, it's embarrassing, isn't it? The leader of one of the world's most powerful countries - so we're led to believe - touring the globe and shacking up with the rich and famous for a few weeks.

Cliff Richard has opened up his home to them in the past - but a fat lot of good it did him. He wanted Blair and Co to extend length of time an artist gets royalties on songs. It was announced in November that wasn't going to happen. There's gratitude for you! And it's also presumably the reason Cliff's been out recording festive hits again since. Down to the last few dozen million are we?

Silvio Berlusconi, the former Italian prime minister who seems to attract trouble wherever he goes, has also opened up his home to Blair. And now the Bee Gees. Who next? And more importantly, why?

Amusingly, Mrs Robin Gibb seems adamant they were just happy to do it, and hadn't received payment - a claim Number 10 disputes. So either Mr Gibb has told Mrs Gibb porkies, or Downing Street is doing some serious festive spinning.

But doesn't it seem odd that just months after arranging the publication of the Stern report -which suggested unless we improve our environmental behaviour, the world is going to die - Blair has jumped on a plane to America for Christmas?

And just weeks after Gordon Brown came up with a new holiday tax.

What's wrong with a long break in the UK? Tourism needs it in this country, thanks to the strong pound against the dollar - great for us, not so good for those relying on Yanks visiting here - and surely he could at last be accused of leading by example.

After all, and this refence is quite seasonal, surely what's good for the goose is good for the gander?

What's on the box?

Hmm, what to make of the Christmas telly this year.

It's a safe bet it wasn't much cop. It also appears obvious that the main channels appear to have given up the ghost when it comes to pulling big audiences.

The Vicar of Dibley was the most-watched programme on Christmas Day. 11 million viewers.

Ok, so many people now have more channels to go at then they ever thought possible - but that doesn't mean we no longer appreciate quality.

The Vicar of Dibley - it's the last one, we've been assured - is good as far as it goes, but 11 million viewers to top the TV charts is hardly a great effort.

Here's a radical thought for Michael Grade at ITV and the new monitoring board at Beeb. Don't give up. Have another go. Make a real push for new, quality-driven programme next Christmas.

Audiences can still be huge, you just have to make more of an effort. I found myself watching repeats of Friends on E4. That wasn't a snub to the stuff on the main channels, but an act of desperation at what was on the BBC.

And that's desperation even before I'd factored in the countless episodes of Eastenders shown during Christmas Day. Eastenders, by the way, pulled in 10.8million viewers. I hope that figure is for the best-watched episode and not a total one for all them - otherwise that would roughly break down to three people for every single screening.

So here it is, merry CHRISTmas

There's been a lot of gnashing of teeth this year about whether it's time to treat Christmas as an American-style 'happy holidays' type event rather than a Christian one.

In America, the 'holiday season' appears to kick-off with Thanksgiving and runs, certainly in the eyes of the shops, until just after Christmas, so you can see why perhaps Christmas isn't quite the focal point it is here.

But to me, it's simple. Would you expect people to celebrate your birthday without you? What would the point of the party be?

I'm not quite sure who's promoting the Winterval idea - I'm a bit concerned the church trying to clamp down on the vague notion of it might actually give the concept legs - but I don't know anyone of other faiths who'd deny Christians Christmas.

We're a Christian country, so Christmas is pretty much a national festival. And there's no reason other faiths can't join in, without compromising their own beliefs. I've received Christmas cards from Muslims in the past, just as I've sent them cards at Eid. I received one from a Jewish man this year - you see what I mean.

But the great thing about Christianity, in my opinion, is that it's up to you what you make of it. There's no prescribed way of being a Christian. You can just talk to God from home, or do so in church every week.

Yet to start driving Christianity out of Christmas seems to be going to far. If people choose to celebrate without involving the birth of Christ, then they can, but surely it's better for people to opt out rather than people having to opt in to make their Christmas religious.

And I defy anyone to disagree once they've enjoyed a midnight service at Christmas.

Have a good one - and don't forget to invite the big man to the party!

Plane boring

Quick message to anyone who has been stuck by fog at airports:

1) Would you rather take off in fog and risk crashing and dying?

2) Why are you blaming the airports - do they have control of the weather?

3) Why are you complaining that they are making you wait in tents when the alternative would have been to wait in a wet car park without any cover?

and

4) Don't you realise no-one has any sympathy because we all think you are going on holiday for Christmas when we're staying at home?

Grim news from the Brothers grim

It's not often I get wound by things printed in the News of the World, but then I saw this screaming great headline:

Ok I know, it was their Christmas do, so they had a right to let their hair down. And they are footballers, and they aren't known generally for being the brightest brunch (look at the stick Graeme Le Saux took just for reading the Guardian when he was at Blackburn Rovers).

But to have a team of highly paid professionals sat in a pub, singing a song with lyrics along the lines of "Build a bonfire, build a bonfire, put the scousers on the top. Put City in the middle, and we'll burn the f***** lot!" begs some very obvious questions.

Fair enough, it's an age-old terrace chant and I'm sure Liverpool have ones just the same about their friends in Trafford, but that's not where I'm coming from today.

My point is the person who apparently led the chants. Stand forward one Gary Neville, one of half of the ugly duo Neville Brothers who have dominated United's backline for the last decade or so.

Brother Phil is now plying his trade at Everton, but more on him soon (he's used to coming second out of the two - particularly when it comes to England call ups).

He's the one who isn't just content with being a talented footballer, but also has to take the moral high ground in front of the cameras at every opportunity. If it's not telling fans off for turning on a player, it's setting himself up as some sort of spokesman for the England players.

He wants to be whiter-than-white, the voice of the players. Then he pulls a stunt like singing this song. So he might have been drunk, but he's the one who wants everyone to listen to when he's climbing on his pedestal. So he needs to remember he's on that same perch when he's out drinking.

Because for as long as he's wanting people to listen to him, you can be assured someone will be. And this latest incident, along with his kissing of the badge in front of Scousers and once admitting 'I was brought up to hate Scousers' just goes to show he's not worthy of the respect he craves.

And now Phil, down the road at Everton is at it as well - leading the chorous for the players when their star striker Andy Johnson was accused of diving against Chelsea. He said it was an outrage. As if Andy Johnson would do that!

Then, rather amusingly, he went on to say: “Maybe he should have a look at the incident on video, then have a look at himself in the mirror."

I let you do the jokes about what may happen if either Neville looks in the mirror but perhaps they'd be better off doing that - regardless of the results - than opening their mouths, letting anything fall or sing out, and leaving themselves open for ridicule.

Merry Christmas by the way!

Tip for the binman?

So we’re getting to then end of our first evening in New York. The tour guide on the ‘night lights tour’ bus we had been travelling on suddenly piped up and said: "Of course, myself and the driver work in the service industry and your generosity is part of our income."

Hmmm, what did he possibly mean? Well, you’d be pretty damn thick not to have twigged he was on about a tip. For doing his job. Quite well, admittedly, but not in a spectacular fashion.

And as we climbed down off the coach, there was bucket positioned there. He and the driver were stood next to it. To not tip would make me look tight, but surely to tip was to effectively give in to the etiquette bullies? I chose the latter – partly because I was tired and partly because hey, I was in New York and all I handed over was a $1 note.

Anyone who goes to New York – or indeed to America – and has read a guide book before they go knows to expect to tip for everything. Whereas here, we tip as a reward for good service – or don’t tip to prove a point about poor service – in America the guidebooks even tell you the expected percentage of bill that should be added on just for being served.

Thankfully, for much of the time I was in New York – three nights, four days – we tipped because we wanted to. But it’s certainly a lot more brash than before. I last went in 2001. The tour guide didn’t ask for tips – or indeed tell a story which just stopped short of pointing out his kids needed new shoes – and the waitresses didn’t draw smiley faces on the back of receipts next to the bit marked: TIP.

Maybe it’s because I have recently been in New York that I’ve noticed the prevalence of the tip boxes here. When I was doing a paperround (I started at the bottom in journalism!) in 1993, the newsagent used to expect us to send cards out with the papers, but only ones bought from him at 2p each. There was no expectation that you’d get a tip, but those who did perhaps get an unwritten guarantee that more care would be taken putting their Sunday Times through the door.

But I’m sure the Chinese takeaway near me has only just joined the tipping brigade . I perhaps go there four times a year – and given how sick I feel today, I doubt I’ll be back for a while – but the young girl on the counter actually tapped the tip box as she gave me my change.

Unsubtle, maybe, but not quite as bad as the binman. He knocked on the front door on Tuesday – hours after I landed from New York – to hand me a green bin bag. And seeing as he was handing it over, he said he’d kill two birds with one stone and get the Christmas tip at the same time.

I’m sorry? A tip for the binman? Surely not even the cash-happy Yanks wouldn’t hand over money to men who make as much noise as possible 51 weeks of the year, don’t do bank holidays, never put the wheelie bin back and never secure the recycling bags so you end up spending half an evening hunting them down within the confines of your local postcode?

I didn’t give him a tip. Don’t tut. Don’t tell me I’ll never get any favours from them in the future. Because I wasn’t anyway – and do you know what, I’m glad I didn’t. Unlike America, the binman can’t claim to having to make his income up on tips, can they? And if he won’t help me recycle, I can hardly be hit by the council for not doing so, can I?

Time to lay off Blair a bit?

SOMETIMES I feel sorry for Tony Blair. Put aside things like the dodgy dossier, cash for peerages and his style-over-substance rhetoric for just one moment and you'll see why.

Fair enough, he's got a lot wrong - and often doesn't seem to accept the fact - but to accuse him of being guilty of the River Ripper cases seems to be just daft.

Of course, people aren't blaming him for the actual crimes, but the circumstances which led up to the deaths of the five prostitutes.

Why? Apparently, it is because of his government's policy on prostitutes. And who is saying this? The rolling news channels, of course.

To be honest, they aren't actually blaming Labour for the deaths, but once they've done the breathless 15-minutes-with-the-normally-studio-bound-anchor-at-scene-because-it's-such-
a-big-story segment, its back to the one left behind in the studio to hold a debate on what is happening.

Hell, there's another 45 minutes to be filled and holding a debate is much cheaper than finding real news.

And so, less than 24 hours after the last two bodies were discovered in 'sleepy Suffolk' (I assume that is its full title, and maps have only ever given an abbreviation, because that's what everyone has been calling it for two days) we're into the debate about who should take the rap for what went on.

Because simply catching the killer isn't enough. Let the public floggings begin.

It's a trend which has been going on for a while. The last crime news story to warrant the TV stars out of their interactive studios and into the depths of middle England was the tragic double death of Holly and Jessica back in 2002.

The Bichard enquiry came into being after Holly and Jessica's killer, Ian Huntley, was sent down - that's about a year after they died.

But as each major news event comes and goes, the TV channels seem determined to fill more of their non-stop hours with breathless coverage covering all angles as soon as possible, we now have this ridiculous situation.

The prime minister being blamed for the deaths of five women in Ipswich. Because his policy on prostitutes leaves them at risk.

And just what is his policy? By my reckoning, it's the same as everyone previous government. Prostitution is illegal. Those who take part in it are breaking the law.

What's the alternative? To molly-coddle those involved? To create a safe environment? Would those people who condemn Blair's policy then not round on him for another example of the nanny state?

Sometimes, as Prime Minister, can you just not win?

Oh come, all ye faithful shoppers

HOPEFULLY this won’t sound too much a Winterval v Christmas rant (We’ll leave that one to man of the people 2006 winner Jack Straw) but something rather special happened yesterday.

I got a Christmas card. I may be a Billy No Mates at times, but I still do get Christmas cards, and had already received several. But this one was different – and it took me a minute to work out why.

Then it dawned on me. It was vaguely religious. It depicted the stable in which Jesus was born. Ten Christmas cards in for 2006 and it was the first one which reminded the person receiving it that it was actually a religious festival.

Are so many people really just ignoring the real meaning of Christmas and intentionally plumping for ones of penguins and polar bears? Even Santa, that commercially-created icon of the 20th century, appears to be being pushed out at the moment.

The card also reminded me that it was time for me to buy some cards (having resisted the buy two, get one free deals that were on last month on the grounds it was only November).

And the answer to the question I posed in the paragraph above the last one soon unveiled itself once I was inside Tesco. Despite being large enough to stock a dozen types of TV, at least 10 versions of a Chicken sandwich and enough pairs of shoes to keep a certain famed south American leader’s wife happy for years, it didn’t have a single religious card.

Or indeed, religious wrapping. The nearest I got to Father Christmas was wrapping with the word Jingle on it. Modern chic or what? So I asked the Tesco assistant, whose attitude suggested he had only recently worked for Asda (I assume that’s where they learn that ‘don’t look at the customer, and sneer at them when they speak’ look anyway). His response: That’s all we’ve got.

Now, getting four words out of him was an achievement. But hardly conclusive in terms of getting my answer. So let’s just assume that’s all they stock.

I don’t really mind how people celebrate Christmas. For me, it’ll be midnight mass on Christmas Eve, open presents in the morning, work in the afternoon (that’s the really festive bit when me and someone else sit around the newsdesk eating turkey sandwiches for three hours hoping a news story will break to help fill five live news pages for the Boxing Day edition of the paper which we know all the readers will appreciate) and then back home.

But surely in this country, it shouldn’t be too much to expect the UK’s largest retailer (£1 in every 8 etc) to stock Christmas cards with something relating to baby Jesus? I know it’s a petty thing to get wound up about, but as they say it Tesco, every little helps. And when it comes to commercialism, it’s one thing to cash in on the birth of Christ, another to sideline him altogether…

Time for Us to mind their Ps and Qs

I got back from New York yesterday. It’s the third time I’ve been to the States, and the second time to New York.

Sadly, I’ve never a) been asked if I know the Queen, b) told what a wonderful man Tony Blair is for sticking by the US or c) offered the chance to supersize my order.

But what I have learnt is this: While the UK in many ways is keen to ape the America – the checkout girl at my local Asda told me to have a nice day the other day – it seems the Yanks are keen to copy us.

Hell, they can’t have a royal family, so they’ll just keep re-electing members of the same family (Jeb Bush for 2012 anyone?). We used to be the world’s superpower. It took us centuries to build up that sort of influence – the Americans have done it in little more than two.

And now they’re chasing after one of our last quintessentially English traits: queuing.

No longer the preserve of the English, the Americans are making a sport of it. For example, how many queues do you think it takes to go up the London Eye? One.

How many queues to get up the Empire State Building? Five: One to get in the building, one to go through security, one to queue for a ticket, one to go up in the first lift and then another to go up in a second lift. Quite why there are two lifts, I don’t know – you’re hardly going to pay to go up to the 80th floor and then bail out of the next six, are you?

Then, at New York JFK airport – how many queues to get from entrance to plane? Three at a push at Manchester: One to check-in, one through security and then one to get on the plane. JFK? SEVEN. One to get in the building, one to check-in, another to drop off your bags, another for the first check-in, then for the second check-in, then in the incredibly small duty free shop, another to get through the departure gate and then, for good measure, one last one to pick up your duty free goods which they insist on delivering to the gate.

And after all that, do you know what: the woman welcoming us on the plane managed to say ‘have a nice day’ without even a trace of irony.