Fathers 4 Justice on my F*@!$%ing rooftop.

A mysterious group called Fathers for Justice have broken into my house and are bouncing about on my rooftop as I blog.

The horror of it all!
Luckily I am not at home, but in our more secure house in the countryside away from the rabble of South London (spit!).

This has completely justified my £200,000 legal bid* to keep MPs expenses private as I said on the politics show.
Publishing our addresses is a bloody security risk!

Yes, yes I know it would be very easy to find out that I lived on Winterbrook Road without having to dig into my expenses -my gobby neighbours at number 22 and 26 have seen to that! Although one can't blame them as it isn't easy living next to a celebrity especially one as posh as me. Sigh.

But anyway, why are Fathers For Justice attacking my home?
Probably because I opposed the new measures to make sure they will be named on their children's birth certificates?
If so, well what can I say? It never ceases to amaze me how ungrateful people can be**.
I am merely trying to spare poor children the embarassment of being associated with an undesirable father. There are many people who for instance would rather not have it known that their father was a Tory MP, or had been to prison, or even worse...both. Yes I do mean you, Jonathan Aitken. Look at the damage he has done to poor Victoria, who is now a table dancing rapper and was last seen shaking her bootie on a hip-hop video. What has Fathers 4 Justice got to say about that, eh?


*It failed, but no need to worry about me as it was taxpayers money so I'm alright, thanks for asking!
** 'Tis a well known fact that the greatest prophets such as myself will alway be rejected by their own

Natural Selection in South London

Just so you know, I don't just want this to be another blog that attracts an overwhelmingly male audience - Yuk.

I'll try and cover more "human interest" stories that will address the needs of the women in the blogosphere out there who want to read more on politics and social issues, but without the rant-wing writing* that passes for debate these days.

Yesterday, I decided to another "Harriet in the High Street" and chat with people at Brixton Market, Peckham being a bit of a no-go area after recent events, Brixton at least is on the way to Herne Hill so I pass by it often.

Unfortunately, as I exited Brixton Tube, I realised the main High Street was completely closed down. Apparently there'd been a terrible accident. It turns out that Naomi, one of the more colourful characters of Brixton Town Centre had been run over by a prison van.

I was surprised to hear from fellow accident gazers that she was just 30 years old. Looking at her, you'd think she was a youthful 55.
Naomi was a rather delightful person. Of course if you're not used to Brixton-type people, you might have found her intimidating. She was always seen laughing and shouting crazily in the gardens in Windrush Square, wearing her Marlboro Jacket and sometimes holding a can of "Tennants Super" although most times I'm sure it was Carlsberg Special Brew. Her favourite game was jumping into the middle of Brixton Road just as the lights turned green to scare the drivers.
The working classes certainly have an queer sense of humour, but it is not for me to question, only to accomodate.

Read Here for More

It is a tribute to Lambeth borough and Brixton especially that such people find a comfortable place to be themselves. The van driver, obviously a nasty piece of work so ready to run over a harmless frail female just frolicking in his path.

R.I.P. Naomi, may you find space to gambol in peace in the great thoroughfares and busy arterial roads in the sky.

*My code for the right-wing ranting loonies. Aren't I clever?