I bet young Gordon’s more than a little hacked-off that Gillian Gibbons isn’t being stripped to the waist and subjected to a public flogging - preferably in front of Sky TV’s cameras. It’s not exactly the Falklands conflict, but could have done the trick and diverted attention away from the Westminster circus. As bad as Khartoum women’s prison probably is, 15 days at Omdurman ain’t the end of the world. It’s rumoured to be a squalid, overcrowded establishment that’s infested with mosquitoes, and sounds pretty similar to a Torremolinos hotel of my acquaintance. She’ll be able to dine out on the story for years; the kids in her class will lap it up. Tabloid journalists are doubtless camped outside her cell, cheque books at the ready.
Back in the real world, near-hurricane gales are forecast for the homestead this weekend. I suspect it’s a combination of North Atlantic weather fronts meeting Rednapp’s wrath, after being forced to let go his dream of succeeding McClaren. Bumps me up another place on the list. Would you Adam & Eve it, the rozzers actually turned up at six in the morning, not realising he was off watching a match in Germany. With the unbelievable news that property prices in Sandbanks are heading south, it’s not really been ’Arry’s week. Who caught the Tottenham match last night? These Aalborg guys are a bit tasty. I’ve actually visited the place; they drink this head-banging form of fire water that helps kill the taste of the raw herring you’re obliged to eat. Which reminds me… as this is St Andrews day, it probably means there's haggis on tonight’s menu.