Holy Family fury at baby Leo's jab

Unto us a child is born ... And the Government shall be upon his shoulders. The question which seemed to interest everyone, however, as we brought our gifts of frankincense and myrrh to worship at the shrine of the baby Leo, was whether he had had his full quota of "jabs". The petulant reaction of Saint Joseph, aka the Prime Minister, upset the Adoration Scenes at the crib yesterday morning. A statement issued by the Holy Family read as follows: "The suggestion that the Government is advising parents to have the MMR jab while we are deliberately refraining from giving our child the treatment because we know it is dangerous is offensive beyond belief." Oh, come now, Your Holiness. It might be a little offensive, but surely it isn't offensive beyond belief ? To suggest that the barriers of belief have been burst will surely only encourage the cynics and mockers to wonder how they could be just a bit more offensive. Unfortunately, in spite of all the inspiring things that Mr Blair does for the moral life of the nation, there is still a minority that nurses a negative attitude to everything.

These malcontents will be wondering whether Mr Blair is prepared to "do a Gummer". John Selwyn Gummer, it will be recorded, fed his child with a beefburger during the height of the scare that eating beef might be linked to the human form of mad cow disease. Was he demonstrating his faith in good old British beef, or putting his child's health at risk for the sake of his own career? Such a question might mean something for non-politicians, but it is probably impossible to imagine what contorted motives course through the blood of those men whose life's ambition is to be in the cabinet, or to be Prime Minister-The question of Leo's MMR jab is, therefore, one of public interest, precisely because the Prime Minister has shown, in his response to the question, that it is.

Many parents are fearful that this vaccine is dangerous. The bulk of medical opinion is against them. Blair's instinct is always to side with Establishments. He supported the big businesses and GM crops against the Prince of Wales and the Greens. He supports the multi-national drug companies and the medical bigwigs against the heretics who predict a generation of autistic children with bowel disease.

At the same time, Blair is the man who comes as close as he dares to giving his children a private education, and is prepared to bend all the Old Labour rules for himself and his family. So, sorry Prime Minister - but whether you did or did not inject baby Leo, it is a matter of public concern.

The Dome - what a bonus

The executive chairman of the Millennium Dome, David James, has, we are all agreed, been doing an absolutely splendid job. This country has had a few triumphs - the resurrection of London after the Great Fire and the building of St Paul's cathedral come to mind. But surely there has been nothing to match the excitement of the Greenwich Millennium Dome, the brilliant history of which by Adam Nicolson was so unaccountably remaindered and is now available as a stocking-filler for a bargain price of 50p at all good bookshops.

Everyone is dancing in the streets at the knowledge that Mr David James, the man who has presided over the triumph, has been given £292,000 out of public money, including a special £100,000 performance bonus last June.

As in the case of the Baby Leo story, there will be the negative voices; some will make the suggestion, offensive beyond belief, that David James should have been paying us, the taxpayers, nearly £300,000, rather than the other way round. Some would think he deserved debagging and throwing into the freezing waters of the Thames.

But, it's Christmas, and - together with a brilliant Underground railway, lovely trolleys in the hospital corridors on which we can die, and a safe and efficient national-rail network - the Millennium Dome is one of those Christmas presents for which we all thank Santa Blair in our hearts.

Look back in anger at Thatch

An eight-foot high statue of Margaret Thatcher has been rejected by the National Portrait Gallery. They say they already have a picture of her, and that enough is enough. It will eventually stand on the empty plinth in the members' lobby of the House of Commons with statues of other former Prime Ministers.

It is fascinating that of all the post-war Prime Ministers, Thatch still has the power to arouse by far the strongest feelings. A small proportion of the population would rejoice if this statue went on permanent public display - for example in Trafalgar Square. A larger percentage, I suspect, would be hideously depressed by such a gesture, regarding her years in office as a period when Britain lost its dear independence and innocence and became a hamburger-infested satellite of North America. Many of the major newspapers were taken over by international finance. Things of which we were proud such as the World Service of the BBC and the trades unions became "the enemy within". Motorways spawned. Everyone became mortgage slaves. The National Portrait Gallery presumably turned down the chance of housing the statue because they knew that it would be vandalised. The same has happened to the huge bust of Thatch that has to be kept under lock and key at her old college in Oxford.

Bad taste in the mouth

Mary Archer, we read, held the champagne and shepherd's pie party in her husband's flat that had become a pre-Christmas tradition. In the past, John Major, who gave Archer his peerage, and Margaret Thatcher, who put him on the path to his glory, were happy to attend, just as the Victorian grandees all flocked to the house of Mr Melmotte in The Way We Live Now.

This year, the two Tory PMs - Major and Thatch - turned down Mary's invitation. It is hard to know which is more distasteful, their promotion of an obvious crook in the first place or their disloyalty in his time of disgrace. We wish Lady Archer a happy Christmas. She stood by her man in the witness box on one occasion. So spirited was her memory of that desk-diary (which everyone else unkindly supposed to be a fake) that we can all be heartily glad that she is warmly ensconced in Old Vicarage, Grantchester, rather than "slopping out" in Holloway prison.