So, in an elegant example of the dark arts of political craft Theresa May is to be Prime Minister by Wednesday evening. The Tories have always been unsentimental if not brutal in removing and installing their leaders. Not for them the hand wringing and drawn out public debates that beset the Labour Party. No, they remain the finest and best drilled exponents of political assassination on the planet. That is not to suggest for a moment that the best person has not won for she probably has and it is to the good that the uncertainty is at an end. I suspect that very early in the campaign Mrs May was taken to one side and told, "Stay aloof and don't get involved. If the vote goes against us we'll need a unity candidate and you are it." She played the part fantastically well and embarks on her premiership with the "safe and competent," badge. 

Boris was never a serious contender for the majority of MP's, except in his own mind, and they've been telling anyone who would listen so for many months. The demise of Michael Gove is regrettable because despite his earnest and sometimes severe demeanour is a genuine reformer who cares deeply about the very large sections of society who have been left behind. He has more to give. Andrea is well, we don't quite know. After being lauded as a City name people in the City have for weeks been asking each other 'who is this women, have you ever come across her?' and of course none of us had. For spicing up her CV she deserves to have fallen by the wayside rather more than for the 'mothergate,' thing. The CV episode would see a junior grad trainee uncerimoniously booted out of any reasonable firm, never mind a prospective prime minister.

So have was Crumble's choice? Actually, none of the above. I would have ticked the box for this lady, Gisela Stuart. She is of course ineligible given the rather inconvenient fact that she is a Labour MP but she rather impressed me during the campaign and I would very much enjoy the irony of having a Bavarian born prime minister taking on Mrs Merkel in exit negotiations. If the Labour party were struck by a sudden flash of sanity they would install Mrs Stuart as leader tomorrow. Now that really would worry Tory backroom fixers. 


Boris and His Bloody Bikes

So, today Barking, Bonking Boris launches his Bikes for Hire scheme in London. It won't end well.

Cyclists are already a menace and law unto themselves in London and are more or less left to get on with whatever they like, wherever they like, completely unhindered by the constabulary. They don't follow any rules or known traffic conventions. They just career around the place as if they own it. I honestly believe they think themselves to be some sort of modern day righteous knights, upholding what is good and true on the roads, pavements and wherever else they choose to go, protected by some sort of Magic Boris Bubble. 

Anyone who doubts me should have a look at the junction on the northern end of Southwark Bridge on any morning at 7am. The scene is the closest thing to anarchy you are likely to witness with bikes hurtling across red lights and threading in between moving traffic and pedestrians with abandon. Little wonder some of them end up underneath said traffic.

Into the mix of HGV's, buses the length of football fields, lycra loony cyclists and dispatch riders we're now going to offer innocent visiting tourists the opportunity to experience Reality Death Race 2010. Cycling through a quiet Dutch or Mid Western town is no preparation for London traffic. It's utter madness but when I look at the author of this madcap scheme why should I be surprised?

Ronnie Scott's; Postscript - Get a Grip Boris

Woooooaaaaaa; what a fantastic evening. Just blown away by the great jazz and wonderful relaxed, fun atmosphere. Now my idea of a concert is going to see something like the Trooping of the Colour or anything that begins with, "The Massed Pipes & Drums of the Scottish Division," but last night was up their with "great nights to remember." The chemistry between Lucy and the band was very smooth and because they were so obviously enjoying the evening it was no trouble to sit back, chill and let the music flow over you. 

In truth, I miss the smoky, run down atmosphere of the old place but life moves on. It certainly has for my chum who is always ready to rise to the next challenge that life throws his way. Last night he introduced himself to a wicked drink called a rum old fashioned and by the end of the evening I'm certain he was seeing two if not three Lucy's on stage. Lucky him. I daresay the consequences of his actions have left him feeling somewhat contrite this morning. That boy has to stop his ego writing cheques his body can't keep. 

A magical evening then............ that was, until we stepped outside. Soho at midnight resembles a Ridley Scott sci-fi movie set that looks and feels like a cross between Middle Earth and Bladerunner. As you step down the street, carefully avoiding the streams of urine trickling down the pavement and the menacing swarthy looking Eastern Europeans who lounge around on every corner, you wonder, just wonder, what in the hell to do if a bad thing happened? With two women, and another middle aged bloke at the wrong end of too many rum old fashioneds, it would be an interesting proposition. Obviously, with all night bars and clubs up and down every street there is clear potential for trouble. "Call a police officer," I hear you cry. Not so easy I'm afraid. In keeping with a seeming apparent policy of surrendering control of London's streets to any element that wishes to take control there wasn't a Bobby in sight. Not one. 

Anyone who has been to New York or even further East to the City of London knows that police officers are evident, on foot and in numbers. They call the tune, not the bad guys. 

We walked down to St James, that's the place with barely any open bars at that time, little trouble and few people on the street, and there we saw our first police officers of the evening, sitting in their van. Within minutes their sirens were on and off they sped through the empty streets heading toward................ Soho.

If Boris Johnson spent a fraction of the time cleaning up the streets and getting the police out to do the job we pay them to do as he spends on bloody cycle lanes and rent-a-bike schemes, London would be an altogether more amenable and welcoming place.

I bet it's cleaned up in 2012 though; we wouldn't want to upset the Olympic committee now would we.


Time to hire some NYPD guys.......