MOUSTACHE

There is no getting away from it, my moustache is clearly visible in this photo. Whoopeee!!

TODAY PROGRAMME

I hate John Humphries. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I really hate John Humphries. I went on his "flagship" radio programme with the perfectly reasonable objective of presenting myself as a future Prime Minister (ie not at all like the Prime Ditherer we have now).

All was going swimmingly. I had spent the previous evening reading back copies of the Economist (though was rather distracted by my wife, Louise, scraping away in the background on her ghastly fiddle) and was thoroughly prepared for the usual rough and tumble of political debate. Being such a brilliant thinker, I can hold my own in any forum.

But then the worm Humphries came out with the killer question. If the Prime Ditherer's economic recovery plan was so fucking brilliant (I paraphrase) why was the pound falling off the map? Doh, I should have thought it was fucking obvious. But I couldn't come out with the real reason on national radio. Of course the plan is crap. It was dreamt up by the one eyed wanker and his seedy Scottish glove puppet in the Treasury.

How I wanted to spill the beans. But it is not the time. I stonewalled cleverly by saying I was not going to enter into a running commentary on the pound. Humphries wasn't asking me to, of course, and was momentarily thrown by my brilliant gambit. But the poisonous Welsh streak in him came to the fore and he kept going back to the jugular. I thought of putting the phone down, or feigning heart attack, but in the end I saw it through. Humphries 1, Millerband 0, I fear.

What a horrible experience. I thought we always had that unpleasant jock, John Reid, to the handle the Today programme, but I now understand he is no longer in government. We always used to wheel him out to do the difficult stuff on Iraq. Perhaps he could do the snow job on the economy. I'll mention it in Cabinet. Meanwhile, if the Today programme asks for another interview I shall tell them to phone my brother Glen, or the Prime Ditherer himself. He created this mess, so let him defend his lunatic policies!! Save the world indeed!

GLEN MILLERBAND

My little brother, Glen, seems to be becoming famous in his own right. Perhaps I will have to find a space for him in my government, when I eventually take over (though I have never quite forgiven him for that incident with the cucumber on my 13th birthday). Unlike me, he is featured prominently in today's Times, having made an oh-so-fucking worthy speech about all that climate change bollocks. This is how the article starts:

" Glen Millerband, the Energy and Climate Change Secretary, appeared to be on a collision course with Britain's big power companies last night as he called for sweeping reforms to the industry, including greater state control and a retreat from the free market orthodoxy of the past two decades [Comment: God, I am bored witless already. DM].

In one of his first big speeches since his appointment as head of a new Department of Energy and Climate Change [Comment: I make big speeches all the time, though you would hardly know it from reading The Times. DM]. Mr Millerband signalled a departure in UK energy policy by suggesting that a more muscular approach would be needed from government to tackle the challenges of fighting climate change, curbing fuel poverty and securing long-term energy supplies".

I suppose the "more muscular approach" hinges on the new EU regulation banning good old fashioned light bulbs, in favour of those ghastly low energy things that no one can read by. I'm also not sure how building new runways at Heathrow and Stanstead will tie in with it all. The fact is, as I said at Cabinet the other day, all this climate change stuff is far from proven. No one in government really believes it, especially the Prime Ditherer. If we did we would take some form of serious action, like, er, well, um, banning something. But we don't, so roll on those long, hot summers. My Cabinet colleagues shuffled around a bit, but I could tell they all agreed with me (knowing as they do that I am the most brilliant thinker among them).

When I got back to the Foreign Office I summoned my Chief Toady (aka Principal Private Secretary) and told him how I had grabbed the bull by the bollocks at Cabinet. Surely you mean by the horns, Foreign Secretary, he tittered. You grab your bull where you want and I'll grab mine where I want, I shot back with a steely
glare.

If I might point out, the Chief Toady went on, that Climate Change is now a major priority for the Foreign Office, one that is enabling us to fill jobs all over the world, and in so doing spend lots of tax payers' lolly. This was all news to me, but I didn't let on. I just sent him off for some coffee and a digestive. I can't understand why the Foreign Office has become involved in climate change. It has bugger all to do with diplomacy. But perhaps I should ring Glen and tell him to get his kids of my lawn (before I have it paved over as a car park!).

SIGN OF THE TIMES

It really is incredible, and frustrating. I work hard all day, solving all sorts of terribly tricky world problems. Then I sit up half the night pouring over the contents of my Red Box (so secret that I cannot say much here), making more important decisions. And what happens? I'll tell you. In today's Times there is not one mention of me. Nada. Not a single word. Anyone would think I was just some Johnny-come-lately-New Labour apparatchik (or should I say ZANU-Labour? Rather a good one for the Prime Ditherer).

I thought they would at least say something about my very important intervention at the EU Foreign Ministers meeting (God, I feel instantly bored just writing the phrase), when I called for a UN Security Council resolution on Zimbabwe. Officials at the Foreign Office told me this would be just the ticket to sort out Mugabe. We shall see. Personally, I would like to bomb his mad bad arse off the continent. How difficult could it be? We should send in the SAS and sort the place out. Old Desmond Tutu was bang on when he called for military action. Mind you, he is as barmy as the rest of them down there, but he is right on this occasion. Make my day, punk, as JR Ewing used to say.

CONDI RICE

Today I had a staring competition with a woman from the United States. She won. Ugh! If you look very closely, I think my moustache is almost visible. Today, I could see it in the mirror from ten paces away, which is a personal best.

BANGKOK BLUES

The papers say that thousands of British tourists are stuck in Thailand, because of some hold up at the airport. Apparently, on a quiet night, and when the wind is in the right direction, you can hear them moaning. They of course want the good old British Government to bring them home. By that, they really mean the good old British taxpayer. Bollocks, I say. They went out there to sweat, so let them do so.

It really does take the biscuit. All these ghastly over-weight Brits in horrible clothes from BHS, jumping on aircraft and getting into trouble. Then they expect important people at home, like me, to send in the SAS, Royal Navy, massed bands of the Salvation Army, Red Cross, the entire cast of Children in Need and hard pressed British consular officials to help them out. Double bollocks to that.

I expect most of them are sex tourists anyway. Horrible paedophiles with blackheads and piles. They should be locked up, and probably will be if they keep hanging around airports.

THE OMEN

A lot of fuss about a Tory MP called Damian. I wonder if he is the son of the anti-christ, like his film namesake? I can't help feeling that this could turn out to be a lot worse than hapless shrew Jacqui "read my lips" Smith realises. If she is not careful she could bring the whole shootin' match down, Prime Ditherer and all. As the old Chinese proverb states, when you're in a hole, stop digging. JS has not only continued to dig, she has hired a JCB excavator to help her. Before it is too late, she must a)blame the police, b) apologise c)give me her job (or my brother Glen could do it).

INDIA AND PAKISTAN

I heard on the Today programme (which we are all told to listen to but never appear on, unless The Prime Ditherer agrees) that there is a bit of tension between India and Pakistan. I decided it was time for me to bang a few heads together. I phoned up their respective Foreign Ministers with the same message: 'all I am saying is give peace a chance. Try to see it my way. We can work it out. Come together. All you need is love. Don't let me down.'

That should sort that one out.

MY VISIT TO PAKISTAN

On 26 November I went to a place called Pakistan, just above India. I saw all sorts of top people, with names like Zardari, Qureshi and Kiyani. At one meeting I joked that looking at my programme for the day reminded me of the menu at my local indian curry house. Didn't get as many laughs as I expected.

Pakistan is dreadfully hot and dreadfully poor. It's almost as ghastly as South Shields on a Sunday. I am in no hurry to go back. While I was there the top bod called Zardari gave me a message to pass on to "our Indian friends". It was some sort of list with complicated names, places, dates etc. He said it would mark a whole new phase in cross border co-operation (whatever that means). Unfortunately it completely slipped my mind, and I now seem to have lost the bit of paper he gave me. I saw in the news that there was recently some some sort of kerfuffle in a place called Mumbai. I do hope the list wasn't in any way connected. Whoops!