It is just as well that Jack Straw is taking the flak, because the other cabinet Jack would otherwise be under heavy fire. Jack Cunningham is firmly set on a path to the back benches. "Junket Jack", as he has become known, has always had a taste for the finer things of life.
A kindly reader sent me an e-mail observing that I had seemed a little gloomy of late and wondering whether it was attributable to the distressing process of moving house. And I thought I had been so stoical and brave about it.
My editor required that I write a personal account of my experiences of racism. I was not enthusiastic. Slightly stunned, I left the office in Victoria rolling the camera back to a once-upon-a-time period.
Last week, the Guardian devoted three pages to Germaine Greer, who has written a book called The Whole Woman. Other famous feminists were asked to comment. "We should not feel guilty for cleaning our toilets if we want to," said one.
Another bloody section drops out of my newspaper. What is it? An "East Timor - the new Bali" holiday section? A guide to designer beach huts?
It was September 1972 when word got around York that the alto saxophonist Joe Harriott was coming to town. We were ecstatic. For years we'd bored our friends with Joe's great records, the ground-breaking Indo-Jazz Fusions, and the sheer virtuosity of Free Form.
The general view at Westminster is that Jack Straw, the most authoritarian home secretary since Henry Brooke, has taken a serious hit in his fight with the newspapers over the Lawrence inquiry report. To a great many MPs, his failed injunction looks panicky.
There are certain people who always have the same thing said to them.
We are being bombarded with opinions, which all stem from a white British judge's definition of what racism is. Hereafter, Sir William Macpherson replaces Franz Fanon, W E B Dubois, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King and C L R James as the authority on this 400-year-old experience.
I await with bated breath Sir William Macpherson's report on the Stephen Lawrence inquiry. But I am more interested in the big headline than in the minutiae.
The Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles is to be demolished. "I don't understand," says Mitzi Mogul of the Art Deco Society, "why in LA we tear down our monuments to build shopping malls; it's sickening." The answer is that a shopping mall is one of the American century's twin symbols.
I feel better now that I've finally told Paul the truth about the half-hour we both spent in a Times Square massage parlour in December 1982.
Some of my best friends are German. But then, I'm half Italian and though my grandfather fought in the resistance, you couldn't live in Italy during the sixties and seventies without absorbing the sense of guilty complicity that was Mussolini's legacy.
Whoever said "you can't go home again" was talking rubbish. I'm here. The other person was right, the one who said: "Home is the place where, when you go there, they have to let you in."
The fabled closeness between No 10 and No 11 Downing Street is, it seems, precisely that. A myth. Nobody thought to tell Tony Blair the date of the Budget when he decided to pay a state visit to Poland next month, and set in hand preparations for his royal progress.
I have tried hard not to re-enter the New Cross fire issue, in which 13 black children were burnt to death at a birthday party in Deptford, south London, 18 years ago.
I learnt this morning that the talk I was to give to the British Institute of Business Management in March on the impact of new technology in the next millennium has been cancelled for what the letter describes as "an unexpected lack of demand". This is depressing news.
The People's Tsar cannot bring himself to part with his Rasputin. Peter Mandelson, the disgraced former trade secretary, continues to pay frequent visits to Downing Street.
Chris Woodhead is undoubtedly correct in what he said about affairs between teachers and pupils: "I think human beings can get themselves into messes and I think those messes can sometimes be experiential and educative on both sides."
Heat is the hot new entertainment magazine out this week. It brings us "on the beach with Leo" (Leonardo di Caprio to you and me). It tells us what Lucy Lawless, of Xenia: Warrior Princess fame, thinks of bulimia ("I used to quite like [it]. I used to think that was fun").
I must say that my life has been much more real since I have been on TV. The man in the corner shop said: "You never told me you were on TV". No, I hadn't. Perhaps I should have said: "Twenty Silk Cut and, by the way, I occasionally appear on obscure programmes when they need a token female".
I first saw F W de Klerk in action in London a few years ago. He was a guest on Clive Anderson Talks Back, glowing from the comedian's praise. It hasn't been quite the same recently as he has toured this country, promoting his autobiography, The Last Trek: a new beginning.
It has been a rather odd week, of inconsistencies and odd events. I agreed to appear in a studio discussion on BBC Radio 5 Live. The producer told me that I would speak about the Channel 4 discussion which I chaired just before Christmas on gang rape.
"Look, I don't want to interfere with anyone's drinking, especially Mike Hedgett's, but I'd just like to say a few words about why we're gathered here in the basement of Vesuvio's.
Why do English women marry gay men? For love, for friendship and, of course, forewarned. As Liz Spencer explained, she had known her husband Tom was bisexual since they met 26 years ago. His extramarital sex did not bother her.