With the imminent enthronement of David Cameron comes the tricky prospect of what to do with Michael Howard. Experience would suggest he's amply qualified to manage a Premier League football team struggling to avoid relegation, though his record wouldn't exactly inspire confidence. Well used to travelling the country on the campaign trail, he could always take to the road again with his music-hall mind-reading act. ("Are you thinking what I'm thinking you're thinking?") He might fancy a spot of classical acting: possibly as one of the witches in Macbeth. I'd pay good money to hear him say, "Double, double, toil and trouble,/Fire burn, and cauldron bubble." Failing that, I think he'd be ideal for playing the villain in the next Bond movie: "You disappoint me, Mister Bond. I don't expect you to laugh, I expect you to vote." Whatever happens, he can doubtless expect a trip to the Palace to hear the words, "Arise, Sir Michael." That would amuse Ann Widdecombe: she always said he had something of the knight about him.
Meanwhile, there's an enjoyable irony that the most recent round of Blair v Brown has centred on the subject of pensions. Adair Turner's proposal that those approaching retirement should carry on in their jobs for another two years can't have gone down well at No 11. ("Has anybody told Tony about this?") As it is, the report seems to have gone down very badly with the Chancellor, who feels that it is up to him to decide when people should retire. For those in the public services, 93; for the private sector, 95 - subject to means testing. And for the Prime Minister? Fifty-three and not a day longer. Having announced that he won't be seeking re-election, Tony Blair, it occurs to me, is now accountable to no one. Hardly surprising, then, that in the absence of other opposition, his backbenchers have taken it upon themselves to act as a regulatory body. Bob Marshall-Andrews and co notwithstanding, Blair can do what he likes. I read somewhere last week that the idea was that Blair would tackle the difficult issues in the next two years, thereby taking the rap and clearing the ground for Gordon. All well and good, but that assumes they agree on the sort of ground Gordon should inherit in 2007.
A couple of weeks on tour has meant I briefly share the lifestyle of the commercial traveller: another day, another hotel room. Since I was last on the road, designers have been hard at work inventing bathroom furnishings which are a triumph of form over function. How are you supposed to shave in a sink where the tap arches high over the middle of the bowl? Lower your face to the water and your nose collides with the tap; bring your hands up to your face and water spills everywhere. Either exercise assumes that a vanity shelf hasn't been placed below the mirror for you to bump your head on. Modernist shower knobs are ingenious variations on the universal joint, each pull or rotation rewarding the user with a new surprise, ranging from the scalding hot to the freezing cold (but rarely anything between). And if you manage to feel your way along the smooth fascia of the television to find the tiny break in the surface that reveals the on/off switch, you must then crack the arcane code of the remote control.
Greg Dyke wrote of his mother's tearful incomprehension when he presented her with a new Bang & Olufsen. I know how she feels: TV and video operation is now so complicated only a child of seven can understand it.
I must say it doesn't surprise me in the least that Bush wanted to bomb al-Jazeera. The president, who recently urged the Chinese to allow greater freedom and tolerance, is clearly unwilling to extend that same licence to broadcast media. I'm sure Tony Blair would quite like to get rid of an organisation that now tries to employ such tormentors as Mark Seddon and Lauren Booth (look out, New Statesman), but it would be interesting to see how George Bush, Sr would react if one of his son's white phosphorus specials landed on his old mucker David Frost's head just as the veteran interviewer was greeting his audience with a cheery: "Hello, good morning, and Allahu akbar." Recently we learned that it was God who told George Bush to invade Iraq. So who told him to bomb al-Jazeera? Rupert Murdoch, I guess.
