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.