All that is neccessary for banality to triumph is for men with better things to do to go and do them

Many of you will be familiar with the old anarcho-wisdom: don't vote, it only encourages them.

Today, as millions of Europeans across the continent don't bother to vote, I think we can all see the wisdom of that slogan for what it is. Of course, if you want a European parliament full of nutters, ne'er do wells and expense gougers (that means you, Ukip) then it makes perfect sense.

Personally, my primary concern is that I am working the late shift on Sunday night, so if you could all vote in accordance with the polls that would be most welcome, thank you.

------

'Aaaaaaarold

It's a sunny day here in London. By some theories this will depress turn out as people find better things to do. By contrast, some would argue that cold, wet weather would also depress turnout.

Personally, I think it means that if you are a politician and your supporters can't be arsed to turn out and vote for you, then you'd probably better find some new ones. Or give them a reason to vote for you. (See p99 How to succeed at politics: don't be Gordon Brown).

Apparently Harold Wilson once convinced the BBC to delay an episode of Steptoe and Son because he was worried that his supporters would rather watch that than vote for him. "And whose fault is that?" the BBC did not reply.

Lincolnshire, so much to answer for

Baroness Thatcher's home county is a rather strange and sinister place: the flatness, the ditches on the roadside that seem to have the express purposes of drawing in motorists who have become hypnotised by the monotonous landscape so that the in-bred locals can slit their throats and take their valuables. You might see it as Wales without the redeeming features.

But when you consider its politicians an Irish friend of mine suggested an even better comparison: the Tipperary of England. It is perhaps not entirely a coincidence that the most shameful examples of troughing MPs have come from Lincolnshire.

Viscount Hailsham, aka Douglas Hogg, aka the man with the moat seems determined to destroy his own career in a manner designed to make David Cameron look good in comparison.

Then there are his Labour counterparts, foremost among them Elliot Morley, who will spend the rest of life longing for obscurity after claiming for the mortgage that never was - oh while renting out his other home to a fellow Lincolnshire Labour MP.

Another representative of that country is Austin Mitchell, a man whom no one has taken seriously since about 1979. Even the Commons Fees Office questioned some of his claims. At least, he doesn't appear to have done anything too outrageous and, to give the man his due, his response to the Telegraph is far more enjoyable that the standard "it was all within the rules" shtick.

However, this is also the county that sent to Parliament Quentin Davis, the man who was once prosecuted for cruelty to sheep and who - in possibly the gravest misjudgment since Paris whispered in Helen's ear "come over the weekend, no one will miss you" - decided to leave the Tories to join Labour because of his admiration for Gordon Brown's "sound judgment" and "great competence".

Going back further, this was also the county that sent the young Jeffrey Archer to Parliament.

What the hell is wrong with the place? Great cheese, though.

Measuring out life in coffee spoons

Can Gordon Brown's stint at Number 10 be explained entirely through the medium of the poetry of TS Eliot? The Macavity jibe has long been a popular way of describing his habit of vanishing from view when there's rough work to be done and, of course, for many hacks the poems about cats are about the extent of their knowledge of Eliot's work.

But Andrew Grice in the Indie today makes a manful extent at extending this modernist approach to political commentary with a piece on the theme of April as Brown's cruellest month; albeit he - or his editors - resist the obvious and crass course of directly comparing the economy with the waste land itself. Still, it is something of the nature of that poem and its endlessly allusive nature which ensures there is no shortage of passages one could apply to the present day. However, since Eliot's source material itself is so rich, rather than re-echoing Dante, Baudelaire or Petronius, say, I should prefer to quote them directly.

I confess that nothing in the first two strike me as immediately apposite (except perhaps the section in Purgatorio where failed rulers are sent to do penance); but the epigram taken from the Satyricon has some resonance. In political terms Brown is the withered, shrivelled Sybil suspended in a bottle longing for death.

Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Σίβυλλα τί θέλεις; respondebat illa: ἀποθανεῖν θέλω.

But as for Brown and his diminishing band of "loyal" followers (caveat: I would not be surprised were Ed Balls to deliver the final blow to his old mentor - "et tu fatty?"), there is a much more obvious choice of poem: The Hollow Men.

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
...
                                
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Bonus random and entirely irrelevant fact: as part of his final exams at Oxford WH Auden was asked to write about one contemporary poet. He chose TS Eliot. Unfortunately for Auden none of the dons were familiar with Eliot's work; and when one of them spotted that his name was an anagram of "toilets" they concluded it was some undergraduate prank. Auden received a third.

Desperate times

Ed Balls as next Labour leader? While something that would unite Labour and Tory supporters in horror might have something to commend it, it won't happen. Let me suggest the following law.

For Labour to even contemplate doing such a thing, it would have to have suffered such an electoral drubbing that Balls himself would have lost his seat.

A poor man's Portillo.

PS: With Mike Smithson bragging about getting 3/1 on Balls losing in Morley, may I just state I got the even better odds of 7/2. Albeit with a somewhat smaller stake than Mr Smithson's £100.

Worse than a crime, a mistake

There is one thing to be said for smear tactics, spin and the other political black arts: they can be extremely effective. What Derek Draper and Damian McBride were plotting was straight out of the Lee Atwater/Karl Rove play book. (Especially the stuff about Frances Osborne's mental health and the suggestion that the Cameron family would be targeted).

The downside is, of course, that people will hate you for using these tactics. And they only work if you're smart enough not to get caught. As it is: I refer you to my comments about there being nothing worse than looking sleazy and ridiculous. I was not quite right: looking malevolently vile and simultaneously displaying the astuteness of Frs Ted and Dougal takes quite a lot of beating.

But while Draper and McBride receive a richly deserved ordeal by media I don't think it changes much. It does reinforce the impression that Brown and his acolytes are not best suited to lead the country, but I think most people had come to that conclusion already, including the smarter and more principled elements of the Labour party. (For the avoidance of doubt I would include Blair and co in the 'more principled' list; you can decide for yourself how well that reflects on Brown).

However, there is one aspect to this story that has caught my eye. Damian McBride is only 34.

What? He looks about 50, like the sleaziest, clapped out, most corrupt, thuggish and self-important, third-rate west coast of Scotland Labour councillor. A cardiac in need of arrest.

How to do you get to look so seedy, dissipated and unhealthy in such a space of time? God knows, I'm a similar age and I've tried but clearly I have led a life of comparative virtue and clean-living. (I now feel much better about myself for seeing his bloated, bloodshot mug across the papers).

For lovers of literature it has always been fun to imagine how the picture of Dorian Gray would have looked. I think I have an idea now.

Bloody Labour

Even by Gordon Brown's admittedly high standards, his attempts to appear like an everyday person make him appear astonishingly strange, creepy and maladroit.

His latest such effort, talking about his supposed fondness for the robot superhero Optimus Prime (a Transformer – "Robots in Disguise" as I recall – has the usual effect). It's not such an unlikely role model for Brown though.

Behold his alter-ego: Optimus Subprime, a clunking robotic figure who transforms the British economy, motor vehicles and all, into a heap of smouldering junk.

Bloody Tories

Is anyone, bar Madeline McCann's immediate family that concerned that a bunch of young Tories make poor taste jokes and are idiotic enough to put the evidence online? Is it going to change anyone's vote at the next election? Does anyone really think Caroline "Nannygate" Spelman is the best person to decide what is and is not embarrassing to the Tory Party? Spare us the crocodile tears.

Admittedly the Young Conservatives themselves are a perpetual embarrassment - Conservative Future as I should call them after the Thatcher Youth were disbanded for being a bit too embarrassing and right-wing - but the really disturbing thing is that youthful pratishness should be seen as some sort of great political scandal.

The implication being that student politicians should always be on the alert to see how their antics affect their party in the wider world. The problem with this is that some of the most ghastly people one could possibly encounter at an institute of higher education are student politicians. The obnoxious, tribal, yobbish types - like young Lewis - are bad enough; but the very worst are the goody-goody careerists, hacks and toadies.

I can think of a few university contemporaries of mine who have risen through the ranks in their respective parties. Generally the less impressive they are, the better they do. The reaction to the Madeline McCann stunt will only encourage their like in student unions throughout the country.

Acting like a twat at university should not be a bar to high office in later life. But the mere fact of having been a student politician should.

Afterthough: It occurs to me now that the Tory boy's most grievous offence was the sheer lack of effort that went into his "bad taste" outfit. The oh-so predictable race to be "shocking" and "offensive" is rather stale. In my day, and I am aware this is making sound like even more of a choleric old git, the whole point of bad taste parties was to be imaginative or witty in a bid to see how badly dressed one could be.

A quantum of bollocks

There is something apt about the fact that on the day that the Large Hadron Collider is turned on. (I have already mistyped it as Large Hardon, I'm afraid, while a rather officious female was standing over my shoulder dictating to me, just to make it worse) that Gordon Brown gives us a demonstration of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle that constitutes his premiership.

He endorsed Obama, but didn't endorse him and didn't really mean to do so anyway and was supporting him for a policy the Democrat has now abandoned.

Leave aside the justifiable fear (or hope from the Republican supporters) that this may have jinxed Obama (I still think he'll win, but he does need to up his game pronto; besides I don't really believe in the Gordon as Jonah thing, although now that you mention it, it has rained pretty solidly ever since he became PM), it's hard to think of anything more cack-handed and stupid. The last PM to get too close to one side in US election was Major in 92: and look how that worked out.

But then quantum physics can help understand Brown on so many levels. His premiership is, like Schrödinger's cat: it is utterly dead and yet it is still alive and continuing as Gordon gets on with the job (please, restrain your cheering for a moment). As for his political and economic impact: well a black hole seems an apt metaphor as the Labour party is slowly sucked in a destroyed by the unique form of anti-politics at which Brown so excels.