Whittington's Diary

I sneak into a high-level meeting at Tory Central Office.

It’s not like the old one in Smith Square: it is over a coffee bar. I was just making a few observations to Tim Collins about school discipline when he was called away to make a skinny latte for someone.

Lynton Crosby is very pleased with life. Apparently his strategy revolves around making everyone think that the Tories have no chance.

And it is going very well. All over the country Tory candidates are sending out leaflets that give the impression that they are designed to appeal to elderly Mosleyites and nobody else.

He reveals his new poster. It is a giant photo of Michael Howard with the slogan “Vote for this drongo? I’d rather have me todger sawn off with a rusty tin of Fosters!”

“That should lull the bastards,” he enthuses.

Howard asks if this is really necessary. Crosby asks what else he proposes.

“You don’t expect people to vote for you because they trust you or like your policies, do you Michael?”

We don't like to make too much of it, but you might be interested in Whittington Castle.

I was nosing around the dustbins in Whitehall this afternoon. (You often find some discarded smoked salmon there.)

A document caught my eye. It had "Do it again! TB" scrawled across the bottom in red, but it was still possible to read the text. Here are a few highlights:

The language of resolution 1441 leaves the position unclear and the statements made on adoption of the resolution suggest that there were differences of view within the Council as to the legal effect of the resolution.

I remain of the opinion that the safest legal course would be to secure the adoption of a further resolution to authorise the use of force.

You will need to consider very carefully whether the evidence of non-cooperation and non-compliance by Iraq is sufficiently compelling to justify the conclusion that Iraq has failed to take its final opportunity.

There are no grounds for arguing that an "unreasonable veto" would entitle us to proceed on the basis of a presumed Security Council authorisation.

I decided to send a page of it to the Guardian. If they give in to my demands, sack Polly Toynbee and give me a twice-weekly column, I may send them another page tomorrow.

This morning I was up on John Prescott's roof in Hull, stalking a pigeon.

Then the Special Branch turned up and things got rather complicated. Still, I got bail in the end.

I received a letter the other day (you can reach me at this address) and replied in the following terms. I have yet to hear back.

If this is a case of discrimination against cats then I shall lobby the new government to do something about it.

Failing that, there is always the ballot for private members' bills...

That correspondence in full

Hello Paul

I am a cat. Does this alter the legal situation?

Warm regards

Whittington

On Wed, 20 Apr 2005 20:06:46 +0200, "Pual Adesina"<http://www.fastmail.fm/mail/?MLS=MR-**2*;SMB-MF-SF=Date_1;SMR-Part=;SMR-MsgId=2;SMB-MF-DI=10;Ust=09bd78a0!226b41a5;SMR-FM=1;SMB-CF=3971058;UDm=49;MSignal=MC-FromName*U-1*pauladesina11%40fsmail.net> said:
> Good day,
> My name is Paul Adesina staff of the ACCESS BANK PLC. I am an accountant
> with the said bank, I discovered an account with the sum of
> US$27.800,000.00.( Twentyseven million eight hundred thousand US dollars)
> that has been abandoned and unserviced for more than eleven years
> belonging to one of our customer. Our banking law stipulates that if such
> account remain unserviced and the fund unclaimed for twelve years, the
> money will be confiscated and go to the bank revenue as an unclaimed
> fund.

> It is unpon this discovery my colleaques and I decided to make our
> secret and personal inquiries about the account's owner (depositor) and
> the next of kin, but sadly, he died with his Wife and only child in a
> plane crash. We solicit that you stand as the next of kin so that the
> money will be transfered to your account or any other account you may
> provide for us. We proposed that the money be shared as follows, 30% for
> you, 70% for my colleaques and I. As officials of the bank, we have the
> full account information and document to surport your claim.

> Please, could you urgently notify me of your acceptance to assist in this
> transaction, I shall inturn provide you with all necessary information
> about the account and the modalities for a formal application to secure
> the claim and the immediate transfer of the fund to your account or any
> other account you may provide for us.

> I believe you do understand the confidential nature of this transaction
> and hope you will be honest and trustworthy.

> Best regards,

> Paul Adesina

Extract from an interview with Banksie the Newt:

How are you, Banksie?

My feet are sore.

Why's that?

Whittington made me deliver the whole of North Sheen the other evening while he played that computer game. Then he turned up for the last two houses and got his picture in the Richmond & Twickenham Times.

Go on, read that headline.

"LIB DEM CAT MAKES PURR-FECT DELIVERY"

It's sickening, isn't it?

I ask the questions, thank you. But you obviously feel strongly about this.

Yes, for too long we amphibians have been downtrodden. We must rise up and take control of the means of production. We must march on Downing Street. We must cease the BBC.

Then there would be programmes on television we want to watch...

...Like what?

Well, Newts at Ten for one.

You are obviously a bit of a radical, Banksie. I take it you will be voting Labour.

Vote Labour? Of course not. Why would anyone with radical views vote Labour these days?

For the history and career of Banksie, click here.

I was in Dover today. You will often find me there, waiting to hop over to the Continent by hovercat.

This afternoon I was there for Tony Blair's speech on immigration.

While we waited for him to appear, we were played Vera Lynn's greatest hits over the public address system. Eventually he appeared - wearing a tin hat.

He looked rather like Private Pike in Dad's Army.

"Let no one say that British people aren't decent, aren't generous," he said. "And let no one say we'll let any more foreigners in."

There was a commotion after the speech when Nick Robinson from ITN asked: "Prime Minister, why was every face in the audience white? Aren't you playing the race card as well?"

Mr Blair look flustered. He went pale under his orange suntan. He looked desperately around the hall.
"There!" he said, pointing directly at me. "He's black - well, black and white at any rate."

I refuse to be a token anything, so I left in a huff. (That's a kind of taxi you find in the channel ports.)

A better question would be why there weren't more cats in the audience.

This morning I offered to do some leaflet delivering in North Sheen.

Susan is working so hard that I like to do my bit. Mostly I offer strategic advice and rodent control services, but sometimes you have to put paw to pavement.

Just as I was setting off, someone sent me a link to a new game: WMD Hunt. In it, you search 10 Downing Street looking for those elusive "Weapons of Mass Destruction".

You remember. They were the ones in Iraq that were so dangerous we had to go to war without delay.

I have found all sorts of things at No. 10 in the game, but not poor Humphrey. He was the Downing Street cat and first martyr of the Blair premiership. (The word in the alley is that he is buried somewhere under the Millennium Dome.)

The game is addictive - in fact I have just looked at the clock and seen it is after seven.

I have sent Banksie the Newt out with the leaflets and will catch him up when I have played WMD Hunt just once more...

At the Conservative press conference this morning, everything is clear.

Michael Howard says there is no truth in reports that senior MPs, including Shadow Cabinet members, have asked him to tone down his rhetoric.

Liam Fox says “one or two malcontents” are unhappy with the focus on immigration in the campaign.

No contradiction there then.

Afterwards I tag along when they hurry to the heliport to fly to Peterborough.

As the rotors start to spin there is a horrible grinding noise and clouds of blue smoke billow out across London.

"I think we should get the train," says Howard.

"We shall fly on to victory in this machine," says Fox, as the engine explodes. "We don't listen to malcontents."

I missed Charles Kennedy's stumble over local income tax at his early morning press conference. I don't do early mornings. I like to stay in the airing cupboard until the streets are, well, aired.

But I was determined not to miss this evening's interview, which was recorded earlier in the afternoon at Albert Dock in Liverpool.

I took precaution of taking with me a number of placards carrying the main points of our policies, in case Charles found himself in a tight corner. Whenever Paxman tried to catch him out I would hold up the relevant one, allowing him to read off the details.

My one omission was not to have a placard telling him what to say if he was asked about the leadership of the party. When he looked to me for guidance on that one, I gave an expansive shrug involving all four paws.

I think he saw this as me rolling on my back in ecstasy at the thought of his carrying on, and answered accordingly.

John Hemming, the Liberal Democrat candidate in Birmingham Yardley, has revealed that he once lost an election to a dog.

I am speechless.

Please note that I did not write:

John Hemming, the Liberal Democrat candidate in Birmingham Yarldley, has revealed that he once lost an election to a dog - and I don't mean Estelle Morris!

If you want that sort of cheap humour, please go elsewhere. We cats have higher standards.

I have spent the day following Sir Menzies Campbell around as he acts as acting Lib Dem leader. And boy is he acting.

He launches policies. He dispatches helicopters here and battlebuses there. Troops of canvassers are sent into marginal seats and then redirected when the next opinion poll arrives. He’s even commissioned a new song for the party: “It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that Ming.”

During the afternoon Charles Kennedy phoned to see how things were going. “Everything is under control,” Ming assured him. “Please don’t feel under any pressure to rush back.”

“Did you get those books I sent you?” Ming went on. “That’s’ right: “Why Baby Needs Pop at Home. Don’t forget the toddler years either. Sarah will need help with the Terrible Twos. Then there’s middle childhood. Donald will want Dad to watch his shinty games, or whatever it is you find to do on Skye. And you must read The Teenage Boy and the Importance of Male Role Models. You don’t want him hanging round bus shelters in Fort William drinking White Lightning, do you?”

“No, Charles,” he concluded, “there’s really no need for you to hurry back at all.”

You have probably heard about Ed Matts and his doctored photographs. The Tory candidate for Dorset South has been caught out. He altered a picture showing him and Ann Widdecombe protesting against the deportation of a family.

In the original photograph he was holding a picture of the family and Ann Widdecombe was holding a sign saying "Let Them Stay". In the version he printed in his election leaflet he is holding a notice saying "Controlled Immigration" and Ann Widdecombe's now says "Not Chaos & Inhumanity".

Only in the modern Conservative Party would a candidate feel the need to cover up an act of decency like defending a local family from deportation.

But all this has made me look at Mr Matts' leaflets with a more quizzical eye. Take his photograph captioned "Rolf Harris helps Ed Matts collect signatures for a petition in Swanage High Street".

It may be Rolf, but I have a strong suspicion that someone has drawn a beard and glasses on that photo of Ann Widdecombe with a black marker pen.

I also have grave doubts about the one showing Groucho Marx canvassing in Weymouth.

I wandered down to Liberal Democrat HQ in Cowley Street this afternoon. The place was in uproar.

"It's all gone wrong," someone wailed, "the birth was meant to take place in the week before polling day." He pointed to a wall chart where Monday 1 May was circled in red. "Can's she hold on till then?"

It all makes sense now. Last year I saw the Lib Dem supremo poring over one of Clare Rayner's books on sex education, with a lunar calendar, a thermometer and the tide tables for Kyle of Lochalsh laid out on the desk in front of him.

I wonder if he confused metric and Imperial measures or forgot to allow for British Summer Time?

He should not worry too much about cancelling the manifesto launch. No one reads them, and everyone goes soppy over new babies.

What's your favourite line from the movies?

It comes in The Servant when Dirk Bogarde tells James Fox:

I'm a gentleman's gentleman. And you're no bloody gentleman.

I likes that.

It hasn't taken this election campaign long to descend into the gutter, has it?

Just take a look at this report of his speech in Telford today:

As the 2005 election campaign kicked off, he said immigration was "out of control" and insisted that the issue had been a "no go area" for politicians for too long.

Speaking in Telford, he said: "Mr Blair may want to pussyfoot around this issue, but I don't."

Disgusting, isn't it? No politician should deal in crude stereotypes like this.

"Pussyfooting"? I'll give him bloody pussyfooting. And I won't have my claws sheathed either.

And I don't like his views on immigration much either. What Howard misses is that Britain has always gained from immigration whether it has been by the Huguenots , Jews fleeing pogroms in Russia, East African Asians or Transylvanian tailors.

We should be secure enough in our identity to welcome people from other cultures so that we can be enriched by...

Excuse me. That Siamese from next door is in my garden again.

If you have read my earlier diaries will remember I rescued a newt called Banksie from Ken Livingstone's secret laboratories where he was being used in experiments to produce an Übernewt to take over the world. (I think I used to overdo the catnip in my youth.)

After I had saved London he moved in with me as a sort of gentleman's gentleman. Or gentleman's newt. Or gentlecat's newt.

He has his uses. I have just rung for a saucer of milk.

My helper has been unwell for the past few days (honestly, humans!), which means that my efforts to save Rover will have to go unrecorded. Suffice to say, my first piece of advice was to change the name.

This morning I arrived at Windsor to find huge cheering crowds outside the station. I give a modest wave, reflecting that this blog is going down rather well. Then I remember.

Stopping only to place a bet on Hedgehunter in the Grand National (being something of a hedgehunter myself – there is no horse called Volecruncher), I hurry to the Windsor Municipal Refuse Depot and Registry Office for the wedding of the year.

The Prince of Wales wore an oyster silk basket-weave coat and chiffon dress for the civil ceremony [I cannot read my notes very well here so this may not be quite right] and Camilla Parker Bowles (a descendant of Edward VII’s mistress Alice Wilson-Keppel-And-Betty) wore a broad grin.

Then on to the Castle for the service of blessing. Jonathan Dimbleby is there. Rowan Atkinson is therer. Stephen Fry is there. But then it is rather a surprise if one goes to an event or turns on the television and finds that Stephen Fry is not there.

It is all very enjoyable but drags on rather and I start worrying about the race. I see the Queen looking at her watch too and follow her when she steals away.

I see Hedgehunter romp home and escape with the smoked salmon before I am spotted.

Last night I caught a fox sniffing round our dustbins and chased him out of the garden.

I phoned my solicitor this morning, and she assured me that this is still within the law.

When Paul Marsden left the Labour party to join the Liberal Democrats a few of his former colleagues let in be known that they considered him a few sardines short of a full tin. Now, by deciding to rejoin it, he has proved them right.

Marsden, of course, is best known for his poetry. Sadly, his early work has disappeared from his website, but my old friend Lord Bonkers has been keeping an eye on the recent development of his oeuvre.

At the time he joined the Lib Dems, Marsden penned such gems as this (addressed to Hilary Armstrong):

Because you kicked me in the slats,
I've joined the Liberal Democrats.

and this (addressed to anyone who would listen):

I am a fierce and ardent suitor,
Please someone pay for my computer

His later, Housman-influenced verse, written when he surprised the Lib Dems by announcing that he would not stand again in Shrewsbury, has a new resonance today. One thinks of such lines as:

High the vanes of Shrewsbury gleam,
I’m not as fickle as I seem

On Wenlock Edge the wood’s in trouble,
And I am leaving at the double.

I am leaving at a gallop,
It’s farewell Shrewsbury, goodbye Salop.

The Lib Dems are a fine, broad church
And I have left them in the lurch.

To be frank, I see nothing here to wean me from my early enthusiasm for Marvell.

Like all cats I am an anarchist, but I shall be rooting for Susan Kramer in this election. If I were not so busy reporting on your behalf I might even volunteer to deliver the odd leaflet. (There is always the chance of whacking a dog across the nose when it peers out through the letterbox.)

Now that Susan has added to a link to his blog from her website, it would be churlish of me not to do the same.

I can imagine what happened.

You wake up on one of the first warm days of spring, throw open the curtains and watch the early morning sun glinting on the infant Ribble. You look back over your life - the compromises and thwarted ambitions and wonder how you came to be a New Labour candidate. Iraq? Identity cards? Margaret Hodge? Was it for this that you attended all those dreary meetings in draughty church halls and delivered all those leaflets?

You hear time's winged chariot [I devoured Marvell as a kitten] drawing near. In future, you resolve, you will life live differently. You will live it at the edge, as though every moment were your last. You want to do something wild, something different, something crazy.

Suddenly it hits you: "I know what I'll do," you cry aloud, "I'll join the Liberal Democrats!"

I suppose it is all a great coincidence that it should happen on the first day of the campaign. But I think it is fair to say that this is just the sort of stunt that Labour were pulling on other parties a few years ago. In 2005 it is happening to them.

Where have I been today? Exercising every cat's prerogative, I have been up to London to visit the Queen.

And very relaxed she seemed. "Thank goodness that ghastly little man isn't coming today," she said, before ringing for a large gin.

On the way out I frightened a little mouse, but it got under a chair and I was unable to catch it before one of the corgis saw me and I was obliged to run.

On the District line home I wondered why Tony Blair is in such a hurry to call a general election. His government could remain office until next June if he chose, and he risks losing some of his most cherished measures - the Human Rights (Suppression) Bill, the Barcodes (Tattooing on Forehead) Bill and so on - in his haste.

"Cutting and running," we used to call it. I suspect there is bad news ahead.

I was down at Arundel this afternoon enjoying the sun. I strolled by the river and indulged in a little light mousing in the castle grounds.

The only thing which spoilt the day was the traffic. Every road into the town was jampacked with cars, many of them the most expensive models. Tempers rose in the warm spring sunshine and the drivers started hitting one another with their electronic organisers and rolled up copies of the Sunday Telegraph.

While all this was going on I noticed several ragged figures weaving their way to the front of the queue on rickety bicycles.

I asked a local tabby what was going on, and she replied that every ambitious Tory in the country was descending on the place in the hope of winning the nomination now that Howard Flight has been grounded by his party leader.

And the cycling tramps? It seems that they were former Tory MPs who lost their seats in 1997 and had been living under motorway bridges while attempting to get back into the House of Commons ever since.

I hear you asking why Howard Flight was sacked. As a special service to my readers I present a transcript of what he said (thank you to the BBC). If you have kittens, make sure they look away now, for this is what he said:

The potential for getting better taxpayer value is a good bit greater than the James findings [which have been] 'sieved' for what is politically acceptable and what is not going to lose the main argument ... Everyone on our side of the fence believes passionately that it will be a continuing agenda.

I'm not impressed that Michael Howard sacked him so much as impressed that he understood a word of what Flight was on about.

Who is your owner?

Dogs have owners. We cats have staff.

Let me rephrase that: Who do you live with?

I still keep a basket at Susan Kramer's. She is the Liberal Democrat candidate for Richmond Park, you know, and has lived in Barnes for many years.

So you are often found in Barnes?

Yes, and in barns, derelict warehouse and anywhere else you are likely to find a good supply of rodents.

But do you like Richmond Upon Thames?

I love the place. You will often find me taking a saucer of milk at the Maids of Honour teashop in Kew or enjoying a little rough mousing in Kew Gardens or Richmond Park.

What have you been doing since the first London Mayoral campaign?

After that campaign made me famous - writing what is arguably Britain's first political blog - I received many offers. I had a chat show on French television for a while, set up a rodent control business and act as a consultant on dog control for many local authorities.

What will you be writing about in this campaign?

I see myself as a cat of the world, able to give a mature feline perspective on events as they unfold across the country.

How do you think Margaret Hodge will do?

For obvious reasons, I rarely visit Barking.

How about the Isle of Dogs? Airedale? The West Highlands?

That isn't funny.

I am sorry; please don't swish your tale at me like that. Seriously, where will you be going during the campaign?

Anywhere and everywhere - with the few exceptions you mentioned. Wherever there is a story I shall be there. I am off to Arundel tomorrow, for instance.

Reading your earlier diary I see frequent mentions of a newt called Banksie. What became of him?

As I said: dogs have owners, cats have staff.

Thank you, Whittington.

Excuse me while I see if this keyboard will fit my paws.