Why I Read the Guardian

I don't know, to tell the truth. It will be less interesting now that David Blunkett the embattled Home Secretary is gone. I think he might find it useful to talk to Larry. It certainly seems that everybody suddenly turned mean on him.

For weeks and weeks I read it and I don't know why. It isn't to read Penelope Twistleton-Smythe's list of favorite children's books. It isn't because I've been lying awake all night thinking about the Booker short list. The Booker Short List. Marvin loved to tell the story of a sign he had read about outside an office somewhere in India: the proprietor's name, followed by the letters "B.A." followed by, in parenthesis (failed).

Marvin did believe that you should always get some credit for at least showing up. Though not as much as if you showed up and did something.

I like Steve Bell's cartoons. He makes the Incumbent Ape look like a cruelly shaven and especially stupid chimp. In one, he is stepping off Air Force One, asking "Where are we? Is this Yurp?"

Today and I remember why I go browsing there. And if that isn't reason enough, surely this would be. And they are kind enough to provide the runners-up, allowing you to test your own chops as a judge of bad literary sex. If this keeps up I will manage without Mr. Blunkett.