Please give us proper politics

POLITICS - once the exciting and adversarial arena for slick orators and great leaders - is turning into a kitchen sink drama or second-rate soap opera.

Forget great policies and vision. Now our party leaders want to treat us to the 'real them', warts and all. Yuk. Too much information.

Worse still, they seem to believe that their mucky habits and infuriating ways will woo women voters. We should either be extremely insulted or they are more stupid than we ever believed.

America paved the way Michelle Obama outed Mr Super Charisma history-maker Barak Obama as 'snorey' and stinky.

Now the wives of our two potential Prime Ministers are want us to know how messy their men are.

One is noisy in the mornings but romantic and the other irritates his wife by flicking between TV channels and leaving his dirty clothes on the floor.

And their point is?

Diluted policies as weak as thrice-dunked teabags are forcing party leaders to hide behind their wives' skirts.

When all else fails call in the women.

But to think intelligent women will swoon for a Prime Minister who leaves his pants on the floor and butter knife on the worktop is pushing it some.

Most of us have our own pant and knife -leaver at home, are just as irritated by them and wouldn't want them as Prime Minister either.

We want a strong, focused and effective Prime Minister who is fit for purpose. If he chooses to dust his skirting boards in his spare time and put the rubbish out that's fine, we just don't want - or need - to know about it.

He might be a dab hand at rustling up a risotto but that's irrelevant. His priority should be the future of our country, our children and our troops in Afghanistan in his hands - not a wooden spoon.

Fuzzing of lines between public and private is getting out of hand.

What do Samantha Cameron and Sarah Brown- sensible, intelligent and independent women - think they're doing pleading and begging for votes for their men?

They are acting like an interfering mother wading into her teenage son's love life to plead with a girl not to give him up. It's not just ill judged, it's pathetic.

Nothing against the wives. Sam Cam and Sarah Brown are a good bet for perfect best friend material - a real giggle I bet over the odd a glass of pinot.

And they probably are the best weapons Call Me Dave - Sam Cam actually does call him Dave - and Gordon Brown have.

But then they go and ruin it all by treating us like idiots. Would they run to the ballot box to put a cross next to a guy because he left his boxers on the floor like every other man?

We want proper politics not pants.

Imagine Harold Wilson, Michael Foot or Jim Callaghan's wives begging? It's bunkum.

Politics is public and pots, pans and pants private.

But, if they really do believe their women can do it for them, why don't we dispense with the men entirely?

A coalition of Sam Cam and Sarah Brown at Number 10 could be the dream ticket.

They would get the job done efficiently, effectively without fuss with passion and commitment managing everything at once in the effortless way women do. And they'd get someone else to dust the skirting boards.

'Large or small glass?' asked the waiter in the pizza place the other day as I ordered my usual Merlot.

'Small, please. I'm driving,' I said.

My younger son fired a swift shot across my bows.

'If you're driving you shouldn't have any wine at all,' my life-size conscience scolded. 'The smallest amount of alcohol has an effect. Diet coke, please'

Not bad for a 10-year-old. But then every child today is brainwashed to believe that a solitary drink and a single cigarette can lead to certain death thanks to Nanny State.

But he had a point. Alcohol does affect reactions. Even the smallest glass could have an effect.

The Government now plans to cut the drink-driving limit to less than a pint of beer or glass of wine to prevent up to 65 deaths a year and 230 serious injuries in accidents linked to drink driving.

So why have any limit at all? If it's to he dropped to barely more than a thimble full why not impose a zero limit? Limits are abused, ignored and bent. A zero limit would leave no one in doubt.

The people most in need of a zero limit are men in their 50s, 60s and 70s, used to driving with a few pints inside them after a night out, who insist they're 'perfectly capable' of driving.

They openly and regularly flout the law because they're of an age when they know best and have been drinking and driving all their lives.

A zero limit is the only way.

Always one to feel inadequate about my less than perfect life, I devour accounts by celebrities of My Perfect Weekend in weekend supplements.

The effect they have is much like the dreaded Christmas newsletters packed with snippets about gifted children, three-month luxury holidays and new sports cars when your children are counting their detention slips, the roof is leaking and the family cattle truck is on its last legs.

Celebrities spend their weekends elegantly browsing antiquarian bookshops, nipping into organic bistros, on long walks with their perfect family and filling their beautiful houses with friends for a Sunday roast and relaxing by reading, playing the piano or board games with their children with no fighting, threats or broken ornaments.

About as far removed from my weekends as our bank accounts.

They sashay by rows of antique books, while I, like a whirling dervish, wash, iron, tidy, clean, mow, dig, nag, shout, shop and cook until it's Monday when it all starts again and I'm freed from house arrest.

Not that I'm bitter, of course.

There's something distinctly fishy about Simon Cowell's sudden passion for marriage.

For a man who has ducked and dived public romance, decried marriage as obsolete and appeared a confirmed bachelor, now he's turned 50 he's flaunting his new fianc�e and protesting that little too much about her being 'the one.'

He has as much chance of making it up the aisle as Jedward has to a lifetime achievement award at the Brits.

Would you recognise Princess Eugenie or Beatrice if they walked past in the street?

Probably not. I wouldn't.

But these university students, the most minor of royals, cost us more than �1/2 million a year in police protection.

If they gave something back it wouldn't feel so bad but what is the point of protecting such minor royals whose input to the country paying for them is and will always be nothing?

Or more so, what is the point of them?

Lee Wall set up a martial arts club in Oulton Broad with about �35,000 of his own money to give children something to do to keep them off the streets and get them fit.

Now it could close after thieves stole thousands of pounds raised through sponsorship and merchandise sales and equipment.

The Bushido Martial Arts and Community Fitness Centre, in Sea Lake Road gave an outlet for children's and teenagers energy, kept them fit and gave them purpose.

Whenever there is vandalism, theft or teenage violence, teenagers put it down to having nowhere to go and nothing to do.

I've never bought that argument. They just choose not to use activities - or wreck them for others.

This club was perfect for boys and girls who might get into trouble and needed to keep fit.

Now it's ruined - perhaps by the people it was set up to help in the first place.

Someone always knows about every crime. Tell the police now - to help give children and teenagers interested in doing something constructive with their lives the chance.

Chief Medical Officer Sir Liam Donaldson wants to see routine fitness tests for secondary school pupils.

Why does the obvious always have to be made so difficult?

Just make them do PE three times a week like teenagers should and that should do the trick.

When the sun was out earlier this week it felt spring had sprung and all felt good with the world. For a nano-second.

Then the rays fell on the shocking state of the winter neglect showing up dusty surfaces, smeared windows, finger-marked walls, grubby carpets and enough shed dog hair to knit a family selection of jumpers.

Why is that feelgood factor allowed to last only an instant before the extent of the hard work to come sinks in?

All the fuss about David Beckham's ruptured Achilles tendon? Anyone would think he was the bedrock of England's World Cup hopes.

His injury has probably done Fabio Capello a favour and saved him a few sleepless nights pondering how to leave the old timer out of the squad.

Beckham has had his day. He will be missed, but for being David Beckham rather than what he does with the ball. His injury has probably saved him the humiliation of sitting on the bench or even being left behind in the retirement home of past-it footballers.

When knighthoods are showered around willy-nilly like confetti it is odd that none have fallen on those with the rare gift of giving pleasure.

Making people laugh is an under-rated gift - and one of the most important there is.

Laughing cures ills, brings relief and just makes the world look a better place.

But so many brilliant comedians were never knighted - Morecambe and Wise, the two Ronnies, Eric Sykes, Frankie Howard and now Bruce Forsyth.

So why not, as times are grim, have a comedy honours list this year to celebrate the talent and art of the people who can give light relief just when it's needed?

And a revival of their shows to give us all what we need - a good old laugh.