Saturday’s Daily Telegraph (UK) buried a piece of news down page on page 9 (Saturday 3 November 2007) which is really worth a shout of Victor Meldrewness.

Hidden beside the advertisements was this:

‘A Government minister who once called dangerous drivers “serial potential killers” was fined yesterday for using a mobile phone while driving.

‘Liam Byrne, the immigration minister, sat on a parliamentary committee that increased fixed penalty fines for driving while using a mobile from £30 to £60.

‘Mr [Note: Daily Telegraph, why call him Mr here, when other court cases just use the surname?] Byrne, 37, a former police officer and a rising star in Gordon Brown’s government, claimed [he] was taking an important call about deportation when he was stopped in Birmingham in July.’

He was fined £100 plust costs and given three points on his licence.

My point is that the sheer hypocrisy of the MP for Birmingham Hodge Hill is unbelievable. And how did the story come to be so “buried”? A front page link would have been worthwhile.

No matter how important the call, the law is that you must not use a mobile (except for handsfree) while driving. He should have pulled over to take or recall the call.

Byrne should do the honourable thing and resign. But then, pigs might fly.

In this day and age of transparency, when even the smallest parish councillor must declare an interest if an agenda item is in any way connected to him; and when professionals such as lawyers, accountants and the like must at all times be aware of any potential conflict of interest, why does this care-fulness not extend to the top?

Alastair Darling, the British Chancellor of the Exchequer, stepped in a few weeks ago to urge the Bank of England (over which, incidentally, his boss Gordon Brown surrendered control during his days in the same post) to rescue the ailing Northern Rock bank, an ex-building society.

Only this past week did he have the gumption to admit, very very quietly, and in the middle of other news so it was “buried”, that he has a mortgage with…. guess who?

Yup, Northern Rock.

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

There are few musicians or musical acts around who annoy me more than Akon.

The man has one real problem, given his career choice of being a mediocre at best singer: he has the most irritating voice in the world. Listening to Akon’s whiny strains has been likened by some to the enjoyable experience of “that noise when a mosquito flies into your ear.”

It is difficult to place his music too. Some call it hip-hop, though it clearly is not. Most people have thrown it into the “R ‘n’ B” genre, though where the rhythm and blues are here I would question. Having said that, the RnB label has been misused for so long it is entirely without meaning…

But the pain does not stop there.

Not only do we have to listen to Akon on the radio, and on music television – a particular favourite is his “Don’t Matter” song, which has about three words, repeated over and over again. The best bit in this song is when whingey old Akon shuts up, and they play some calypso music. Unfortunately, this doesn’t last long, and Akon begins repeating:

Nobody wanna see us together
But it don’t matter no

About seventy billion times.

Believe it, or believe it not, the above video of Akon has been viewed over 26 million times. The world has become a sad and confusing place.

No, we also have to endure endless mobile phone ringtone adverts featuring Akon. “Get the latest Akon vibe on your celly!!!!!” Doubtless, some idiot has got this most irritating noise as their phone’s ringer. I get annoyed by phone-calls at the best of times, I can think of nothing worse than hearing Akon every time someone wants to speak with me.

Petition to rename Akon ‘Acorn’

Whenever I talk about Akon, I am sure to pronounce his name the correct way – ‘Acorn’ – just like the seed of an oak tree. This is the best explanation for his voice, and also makes him more of a fun character than a serious musician. So, from now on, everyone must call him Acorn.

Acorn is not dissimilar to the friendly old character “Oakey Doke” except, of course, Oakie Doke could sing, and he had a great signature tune. Sign the petition to rename Akon ‘Acorn’ by leaving a comment at the bottom. This is the only way I will countenance more music from Acorn.

Akon: a terrible parody of himself; with a horrible, whiny voice singing songs that wouldn’t sound out of place in a fourth sequel to The Lion King.

My word, how this man still has a TV show is quite beyond me!

I watched the David Letterman show the other day when I couldn’t sleep. It scared me so much I was nearly up all night. The jokes he tells are bad enough, but what nearly made me lose a night’s sleep was one question: why are the audience laughing so hard?

Seriously, he tells some of the worst jokes I have ever heard.

If Bob Monkhouse had never got his ‘shit joke’ book back, and was still onscreen, he’d be outstripping Letterman’s banal comedy. But that’s not the worst of it with the David Letterman show.

You’ve also got the horrible organ music all the time while he is telling his ‘great jokes’ – unnecessary at best – and the ‘quirky’ ‘character’ who plays the organ, without who’s interjections I’m sure the whole world could live quite happily.

So many questions, so few answers.

What is that awful music for, anyway? Why must all of your guests be accompanied by it? Do you HAVE to hold up that CD every time we come back from the ad break? Why can’t you be FUNNY?

Surely Letterman has a team of researchers working on his show, he should use them to write some funny jokes, and stop being such a sycophant to his dull guests. Even then, I’m afraid, the show would still have all the appeal of doing a Klinsman Dive down Tesco’s car park, then bathing in vinegar… for a week.

Letterman on Video – Paris Hilton Interview

It had to happen – the unfunny dullard interviews the complete imbicile, watch it here as Letterman interviews Hilton:

The most ludicrous thing I have seen in a long time. Have you heard how much the audience is laughing? How much are they paid to laugh at that? Is there a big flashing “That was a joke, so you should laugh now” sign? There must be.

Some things in life rub us up the wrong way. Some things really grate at us, for no apparent reason. Then there is Jamie Oliver.

Jamie Oliver’s constant attempts to be a ‘cheeky chappie’ would be irritating, but forgivable, were it not for the fact that I feel seasick, because his cameraman is waving his lens around again. Is that food? I can’t tell, it looks like you’re filming it with a microscope, you’re so close.

Another thing with old Jamie, which makes him far from pukka, is his absolute overuse of olive oil. We get it Jamie. You like extra virgin olive oil. Now stop pouring it into all your recipes, and again over the finished meal. I’m pretty sure Jamie Oliver drinks olive oil instead of water.

Jamie Oliver has also got a huge hangup. Rustic. Everything must be “ruthtic”. What rustic means to Jamie, though, is that it is not chopped properly. Or washed. If it is cooked by throwing it into some ash, all the better.

I long for the day when a nice meal can again be just that: a nice meal. Not some grubby baby carrots which have been char grilled on a barbecue by a try-hard mockney pot-washer with a speech impediment.

After my complaints of yesterday (see Telly Vision), this morning’s offerings from the great and mighty BBC Breakfast, a “news” programme were the following:

1. Picture of “reporter” still living it up in Playa de Luz, Portugal, outside police station yet again telling us there was nothing to tell us.

2. Interview with McCanns’ new publicist on sofa in soft pink shirt, saying there was nothing he could say, but that they didn’t do it. Every question raised was answered with “that’s evidential and I can make no comment on that, but I can say…” So no news there then.

3. Cut to weather girl in mac in Blue Peter Garden – oh, pleeeeease.

4. Shot of “reporter” on street opposite the gates of Chelsea FC to “report” on the sacking/parting by mutual consent of Jose Marinho and the Blues, telling us again that he could tell us nothing. Fascinating shots of buses etc passing behind him.

5. Shot of policital reporter in window bay of Brighton hotel making much of the non-news created by media that the LibDems want to get rid of “Ming”. Again, most fascinating joggers, cars, buses passing behind in front of the grey grey sea. We got no farther forward there, then.

6. Discussion of a paper on airline poisonous air in cockpits and cabins, two guests, one saying yes it was poisonous and had ruined her health, the other saying only very very few pilots and staff were affected. The problem with this was the paper was not to be published until 11am – and this was between 7 and 9, so again a non-story, as they were commenting on what might or might not be contained in the said paper.

7. Winsome story about fly fishing for women post breast cancer ops, very pretty story. Don’t know how much farther it took us on our life journey.

Gawd save us! what a waste of licencepayers’ money

Enough said I think. According to the Beeb’s website, the book is ‘eagerly anticipated’ and due to be published in October 2008.

I can barely wait. Soft, strong and so very absorbant. She is a widemouthed frog with a disagreeable husband and distinctly dodgy leanings – remember her representing the ‘poor’ Afghan hijackers in their Asylum case?

Would have been better had she crept under the rock that TBliar is now hiding beneath and shut up.

Cherie Blair – Autobiography. Shit.

Paris Hilton embodies all that is wrong in contemporary society.

She is a socialite with few morals; no sense of decency; a complete lack of conscience; and one eye on the main chance at all times.

Hilton was thrown in jail for her disregard in a culmination of events played out in high-profile media-grabbing fashion – following her burst onto the ‘scene’ in “The Simple Life” with her equally senseless friend, Nicole Ritchie, Paris has demonstrated her idiocy to one and all, on numerous occasions.

She carved her own niche: the super-rich idiot who loves nothing more than demonstrating her own stupidity and vapid selfishness at every opportunity, so that the world can look on with horror, and buy her perfume.

The world, it seems, cannot get enough of Paris.