Nobody begrudges Peter Mandelson his new personal spin-doctor. He is Peter "Rough" Diamond, a 23-old-public relations chappie associated with Progress or one of those other ersatz new Labour publications, although I don't expect he will be ringing me very often. It is certainly not unusual for a politician to hire someone half his age as his gofer. But there is some tut-tutting at Westminster. Why, ask the sisters, does Mandy never hire a woman?

The question is not academic, as the Lord Chancellor is discovering in his legal spat with the sisters over his appointment of one of his male pals to a £73,000 job as his special adviser. The cases are similar. The lucrative post of Mandy's apologist was not, as far as anyone knows, advertised. Yet, presumably, wee Rough is paid out of public funds, to the tune of something like 50 grand a year.

Being Home Secretary does entail being a nasty bastard, it is true. But does Jack Straw have to be so cruel about his comrades? As it emerged that the Labour backbenchers' revolt over the sell-off of the air traffic control system would be unsuccessful, he was heard crowing to a bemused MP: "That's another one in the eye for the bleeding-heart brigade."

To a strange little house by Charing Cross station, once the home of Heinrich Heine, for a press preview of Rory Bremner's new, hour-long satire, My Government and I. It is based on a plot by Tony Blair to replace the Queen in the public's affections. Bremner's hilarious spoof of Blair never fails, but I still laugh longest and hardest at the briIIiant portrayal of Alastair Campbell. The actor has Ali's nose-rubbing, shoulder-shrugging hard-swearing style off to a tee. It is only too easy to believe that his contemptuous treatment of the PM in the film is an accurate portrayal of the real relationship with his titular master. A scene where Ali boots the Queen's corgis out of the way with a string of oaths is unforgettable. Campbell hates dogs. It must be something to do with his father being a vet. It shouldn't happen to a spin-doctor. The programme goes out on 19 November.

Gorgeous, pouting Amanda Platell, William Hague's personal publicist, is sporting a slight injury to her forehead, suggesting that she has gone several rounds with her boss on the judo mat. That can't be true, because Sebastian (I can't bring myself to call him "Lord") Coe wouldn't let her so close to the Rotherham Strangler. On closer inspection, there is another mark deep inside that bushy right eyebrow, and both are apparently the result of being brought up in Perth, Australia: presumably the surgical removal of the effects of the sun. I sincerely trust that the Great Helmsman, who "learned" English in a Melbourne playground, does not have any similar blemishes.

The House of Commons authorities have landed themselves in a fair pickle over facial jewellery. A barman in the Strangers Bar, where MPs while away the hours between divisions, has been ordered to remove a gold eyebrow-piece. Yet others working at Westminster, notably MPs' researchers, can pierce their faces to their hearts' content. This, argues the barman, must contravene the new, Europe-inspired human rights legislation. The authorities accept that he might have a point, and have gone away to think about it.

Railtrack cocks up the network so badly that its executives can't even get to London to meet MPs. Austin Mitchell has written to fellow members of the Trans-Pennine All-Party Group (what a wonderful title - only politicians could dream that up), relaying Railtrack's apologies for not turning up for a meeting on 1 November. Delegates were delayed by "unforeseen bad weather conditions". Now they can't get to Westminster until the New Year. Aha. Does that mean the trains will not be running properly until 2001? That, I fear, is the only inference to be drawn.

Paul Routledge is chief political commentator for the Mirror

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