The marriageability of Charlie and other stories

OK new day, and strangely enough I don't feel like ranting. I am in one of those rare moods where I actually believe that all is for the best in this best of all possible worlds. Hmm. Who knows how long this will last?

Panglossian delusion aside, it has been a very quiet day. A quick glance at the papers reveals that Cherie Blair (wife of Tone) has been quoted criticising Islam for its subjugation of women. Good on her, I say. Although I'm not sure quite how that squares with the fact that she represented that teenage girl who sued her local authority for not allowing her wear a jilbab to class. I suppose for her, the 'distinction' was that the young girl was exercising her free choice to wear said attire, and not being coerced into it by some mad mullah.

I note with alarm that our Home Secretary, Charles Clarke, is threatening to pull out of the European Convention on Human Rights. I must say something about this fellow. Charles Clarke is a very interesting-looking man. Whenever I see a picture of him, I am reminded of an old Nigerian saying that no matter what a man looks like, he will always find a woman to marry him. Very true words. Anyway, he is threatening that the Convention may be in danger if he does not get his way on certain anti-terror legislation he wants to push through. I am not in a very talkative mood today, so you have all been spared the lecture on why this would be a Very Bad Thing.

The whole nation (me excepted) is engulfed in cricket fever. England are playing Australia, and all of a sudden, even people who know nothing about cricket are waving the flag. This must be really annoying for genuine cricket supporters who follow the sport through thick and thin. Someone described their feelings as akin to those of devoted churchgoers at Christmas Eve midnight service when the drunken revellers from the Dog and Duck turn up to bellow Good King Wenceslas.

Above many things I love the onset of Autumn. It is the most awesome season. It appears to be the only time of year that I can unearth my latent creativity. Plus it's so beautiful outside. As I walked up the hill yesterday, I found myself reciting Yeats' The falling of the leaves. It's such a sad poem, but it always cheers me up.