He is an icon for the black community, but does he take too many risks in advancing the cause of ant
Geoff rings on his mobile at half-past eleven on Tuesday morning to tell me that he's in Oxford Street. This is not altogether sensational news, in that he lives just off Marylebone High Street and so has only to take a three-minute walk to accomplish such a feat.
"The absence of fear is the finest thing that can happen to a child." So said A S Neill, the founder of Summerhill. Neill the great educator had not reckoned with new Labour, SATs and performance-related pay for teachers.
Nigel Wrench, one of the most famous news presenters on Radio 4, became HIV-positive in 1993 as a result of having sex on Hampstead Heath with a man who didn't want to use a condom.
New Labour's attitude towards the security services is puzzling. On the one hand, it pursues the MI5 renegade David Shayler with a vigour exceeding its prosecution of General Pinochet.
Budget time, and the living is easy. Or at least, the economy is doing very well indeed. Everywhere you look, there are freshly minted millionaires aged about 16, and - give or take a Rover or two - thriving businesses.
"Why don't we put on the wedding video?" asked Ken. After years of reaching for my scarf and gloves at such moments, I was rather surprised to hear myself joining in the chorus of approval. Yes, indeed. Let's look at the wedding video.
Last week, a friend was complaining to me that some people had unrealistic expectations of new Labour and would not be satisfied whatever the government did. She meant me, but I don't think she was right. I have pitifully low expectations of everything.
Once again, a few Labour grandees are raising the alarm about the core voters. John Prescott, Robin Cook and Peter Hain fear that Mr Blair's unrepentant middle-class ethos has alienated the grass-roots proletarian Labour support.
The West Indian masses have taken to the streets, boycotts are taking shape and governments are worried that the current movement may well destabilise the region.
Such fun to see Michael Portillo engaging nose with carpet at Treasury Questions. But the Tories have only themselves to blame. The Chancellor used to let his shadow know, through the usual channels, which questions he would answer, and which he would pass on to his underlings.
I may have started a trend. In normal weeks this column hardly attracts a bulging postbag.
In one of his lifemanship books, Stephen Potter recommends that if the person next to you on a plane asks what you're reading, if you have a newspaper you should reply: "Do you read your press cuttings?" Or, if you have a book: "Proust. In Spanish. Much funnier."
"Women have settled for a fake equality instead of true liberation." Discuss. More than 500 women across the UK did, as part of a survey undertaken by Germaine Greer's publishing house, Anchor.
I have in the past few days been pretty close to the mayoral argument. I chaired a meeting in east London only days after Frank Dobson was named the Labour Party candidate. He did not turn up and sent no apologies. Trevor Phillips, his running mate, replaced him.
Tetchy Tony Blair is not solely motivated by a natural parental concern in his legal action to prevent the Mail on Sunday (or any other newspaper) printing revelations by the family's former nanny, Ros Mark. He is also worried about his image, and that of the First Lady, Cherie.
She has turned her brightly packaged self into a corporate image fit for a king - or at least a prin
Yesterday morning, three men in brown coats from London University called round to my flat, stacked 620 books into eight large boxes, and took the lot away to Senate House library for "sorting and disposal".
Last August, the defence minister John Spellar described the no-fly zones over Iraq as "international zones, designed by the international community". This is false.
Do you remember the ridiculous level of coverage when the last Oasis album came out? Newspapers were reviewing it on the front page, acclaiming it as a work of genius.
A forthcoming book about the relationship between Gordon Brown and Tony Blair will say, according to the Sunday Times, that the Chancellor shed "tears of anger and frustration" last year when Alastair Campbell described him as "psychologically flawed".
The sound of Pavarotti being squeezed till his pips squeak bears little resemblance to the tenor's honey-toned arias.
I called the Foreign Office to ask whether Prince Charles's visit to the Caribbean was part of a new initiative by the British to rescue the region from the social and economic disaster in which several of the islands find themselves.
A young reporter from one of the broadsheets called. It was the first anniversary of Sir William Macpherson's report on the Stephen Lawrence case, and the reporter wanted to know if anything had changed over the past year.
An explosion on a sunny Sunday morning is just what you need. There was to be a "controlled demolition" near where I live. A block of flats was to be blown up. I thought we might even go en famille - though this proved too much for my teenage daughter.
My doctor has stopped the sleeping pills. When I called in to pick up a repeat prescription, I was ready for the usual cursory interview. "Still not sleeping too well?" "I'm afraid not." "Still kept awake by worries?" "That's right." "Any particular worries?" "Not really.
When I was younger, I would often arrive at the cinema after the film had begun. It didn't matter much, because when the film finished we would wait and watch the beginning of the film again until we reached a bit we recognised. You can't always do this nowadays.
The state of the National Health Service is largely discussed in terms of waiting lists, availability of beds, epidemics here and there, public-spending cuts and the like.
When the Austrian neo-fascist Jorg Haider pointed out that his political programme closely matched that of the Blair project, his comments were lost in the heady news that Prince Charles would cancel a visit to Austria.
Over the years I've had what can only be regarded as more than my fair share of trouble with suckling pigs. When I first landed in Madrid with Ruth in the early 1980s, I had no idea that they were likely to feature on the average menu, let alone come to dominate our entire interpersonal agenda.