Ditch the politicians

Hans Blix has now joined the Americans, the BBC, the leaders of France, China, Russia, Germany, and most liberal opinion in the West, in attacking Tony Blair. Blix has criticised Blair's use of intelligence sources in claiming that Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction which could be used within 45 minutes.

The Americans have been dismayed by Blair's belief in a dodgy intelligence source suggesting that Saddam was buying uranium from Niger.

It is hard to feel sorry for Mr Blair. He has been so lucky for so long that we rejoice at anything that would remove that monkey grin from his face.

But, alas, none of these many assaults can get round one rather awkward fact. I write as one who went on the antiwar march and frequently wrote in this paper attacking the idea of going to war.

We argued that it might lead to huge casualties. But it didn't. We argued that it would lead to the complete destabilisation of the region. But it hasn't.

For the first time in three years, the Jews and the Arabs are sitting down together in an uneasy truce. We said there would be a civil war in Iraq. A few snipers have killed a few British troops, but things are better there than we feared.

I still think it would have been better to allow Blix to finish his task of weapons inspection, for sanctions to continue against the Iraqi regime. But in realistic terms, I find it hard to explain how this could have been achieved without a peace-keeping force of non-Iraqi troops on the ground.

Watching the comedian Jim Davidson on TV on Saturday night entertaining British sailors, airmen and soldiers in Gibraltar, the Gulf and Basra was an inspiring experience.

It made you see that, although British politicians make some appalling blunders, British troops - unlike British politicians, British fat cats or British transport workers - are superbly and modestly professional.

They are also universally pleasant. Go to the House of Commons bars or smoking rooms and you meet a collection of 10th-rate, ignorant buffoons. But you never meet a service man or woman without being impressed. Both by their niceness and their efficiency.

Probably both sides in the debate over the Iraqi war exaggerated things to suit their arguments.

One thing is clear. If the predicted disaster has been averted, that is to the credit not of the politicians but of the troops.

I switched off Davidson's show wishing that not only Iraq but our country could have its politicians sent into exile, while the day-to-day running of our national life could be left to incorruptible brigadiers and smiling squaddies.

Diminished by death

Lord Shawcross has died, and although he received a long obituary, the event was hardly mentioned in the news. Presumably, his role in the Nuremberg trials has been forgotten. On Friday morning, the Marquess of Salisbury died. He did not even get an obituary in The Times the next day, though, of course, it carries one this morning.

Auberon Waugh used to say we all feel diminished when a great nobleman dies. There can have been no time in our history when the death of a Marquess of Salisbury, head of the greatest political dynasty in our land, would not have been reported as mainstream news in the papers. Some of us hope that the new marquess, until last week called just Robert Cranborne, will be the next Tory Prime Minister.

Diana memorial fund has gone to pottery

In the mid- to late-19th century, my great-great-grandfather, rather than humiliating himself and the family, as I do, by writing for the newspapers, pursued the dignified trade of pottery.

His small works in Stoke manufactured Parian figures and busts - Dante, Chaucer and Shakespeare rolled off the production lines along with Mr Gladstone and Prince Albert.

It could be said that Wilson and Sons' pure white figurines of dead royal icons were more tasteful than the garish dolls produced by the Pennsylvania-based firm of Franklin Mint, but, as someone, as it were, in the same line of business as the American firm, I was glad they won their case against the ridiculous Princess Di memorial fund.

Those of us who gave money to this fund - now amounting to £46 million - did so because we wanted it spent on good causes, not on legal fees. A few tatty souvenirs could hardly "damage" Princess Di's memory, and the notion that her image could be copyrighted was pure legal gobbledygook.

The English lawyers who led the memorial fund into this disaster should be made to compensate personally and pay the lost millions to sponsor a ballet or a refuge for Aids patients, which is the sort of thing Princess Di would have wanted.

A too heavy hand in the gay bishop saga

There have always been gay bishops in all churches. When Tommy Strong became Bishop of Oxford in the 1920s, the Archbishop of Canterbury insisted on appointing his butlers.

When the bishop was "interviewing" young clergymen during their ordination retreat, the butler would be designated to enter just as the episcopal hand was making its way towards the ordinand's trousers, with the words: "I am sorry, I thought you rang, my Lord".

The new elements in the story are, first, that everyone nowadays spells these things out in a humourless way and second, that the Holy Rollers or Bible-Bashers - who used to confine themselves to beach missions and Billy Grahamstyle rallies - have colonised a few English churches and claim to speak for "Anglicanism".

It is a mystery why Archbishop Williams, who had been sensibly supporting Dr Jeffrey John for the job at Reading, suddenly caved in to these strange people. I don't think he was intimidated by them. I suspect one individual in his personal life has influenced him emotionally.

It's no mystery why most Americans do not bother to own a passport. It is because they are too fat to get on a plane.

Scientists have said for years that the ingredients in chocolate chip cookies, quarter-pounders, Patriotic Fries and other American snax encourage binge eating. Any Green protester who dared say so too loud was sued.

Those of us who had English childhoods, nourished by rice pudding and 10 cigarettes per day, are whippet-thin and athletic deep into old age. Our kids, fed on American snax, are, even by the age of six, too fat to waddle to school.