Run with Eric:
TV

Well, it's happened: Corpus Christi Oxford have been stripped of their University Challenge title for fielding an ileligible contestant. Much has been said of Gail Trimble's consistently astounding performances for the team (except the final, when she was a bit shit until the last 10 minutes), and how much of a letdown it must be for her, but I feel sorry for everyone involved. And yes, I do think stripping them of the title is a mistake.

For a start, naughty boy Sam Kay was a student when the tournament began, only being ineligible for the final three matches of the competition. Clearly it's unfair that the team fielded a non-student, but I don't think Corpus Christi were at any great advantage - Kay was working as a graduate trainee for PricewaterhouseCoopers, not Stephen Fry's personal biographer. Or something. He was a student when he began - that should be enough. It's just not fair for the rest of the team to lose their title because of what is essentially a technicality.

And yes, I do believe it is a technicality. Gail Trimble is 26. Mature students are positively encouraged to participate. What, then, does it matter if a contestant has ceased to be a student some way during the competition? Clearly I'm not saying anyone should be allowed to enter and we should turn a blind eye to non-students representing a university, but in such a circumstance as this, I think common sense should prevail.

Secondly, he thought he was eligble. He didn't deliberately cheat; he made a mistake that really did nobody any harm.

And most importantly of all, Manchester University - the runners-up who have now been awarded the title - didn't even want it to be this way. They are sensible enough to realise the situation for what it is. In Manchester team captain Matthew Yeo's words, the Corpus Christi side were "deserving and worthy champions". He added: "We hope any decision does not detract from what was a thrilling final won by a truly tremendous team." Well said.

An ineligible player doesn't make the whole competition a farce - giving away the title does. And this decision won't help Manchester one bit, either. A student there - 22-year-old Cori Bromfeld - told the BBC that "to win in this way does take away some of the achievement. People in the future will say that we only won because the other team cheated." Exactly - whereas now, they'll be remembered as brave finalists who lost to an incredible team (and were 70-0 up at one point). OK, so it's more likely they won't be remembered much at all, but in University Challenge circles at least, they'd have a better reputation without the title.

But it is Corpus Christi who have ultimately lost out. A shame. Maybe Gail Trimble might take up that Nuts photo opportunity after all.

(In other news, the world plunges deeper into economic armageddon. Ah well.)

Thank God for faceless men in suits: if it wasn't for organisers at the Eurovision Song Contest, Georgia could be sparking another war with Russia.

Their song for 2009, We Don't Wanna Put In - an unsubtle reference to Vladimir Putin - has been ruled unacceptable for the competition because no entries will be permitted with "lyrics, speeches, gestures of a political or similar nature". Strange, that, because I seem to remember a slightly political entry last year called Peace Will Come. The entrant? Georgia.

Clearly the worry is that given last year's events in Eastern Europe, letting Georgia slag off the Ruskis - in their own country - in one of the (tragically) biggest European soirees of the year isn't great thinking, and so the song has been forcibly withdrawn.

Probably for the best.

It's the job interview from hell.

From across the country, Britain's brightest political prospects head for London. Chosen from thousands of applicants: 10 candidates. They will fight it out for a top job with a six-figure salary.

But to succeed, they'll have to impress the boss. Famously hard to impress, he heads a vast political empire. Now, he is on the hunt for a new Speaker.

Hang on, didn't the BBC already do this? Hasn't this already been decided, and the new Speaker for the House of Commons is a 15-year-old Bristolian boy with a dodgy taste in suits?

Well, it's all about young blood, I suppose. And he was miles better than Kay Kay.

So, Matt Smith has defied all predictions to be named the next Doctor. If your reaction was anything other than "Who?", then you're either a shrewd telly addict, a Doctor Who insider or lying. Smith's announcement came out of nowhere.

But one aspect isn't such a surprise: the new Doctor's age.

A return to the older Doctors of... old was mooted, but it was always going to go the other way. Doctor Who has always been a children's/family programme, and so the target audience is clearly children. And I don't know whether it's a recent phenomenon, but these days children prefer younger role models: less of the cool dad of Jon Pertwee or the mad perverted uncle of Tom Baker, and more David Tennant or his young sidekicks – people they can imagine themselves being.

And as such, it's natural for the producers of Doctor Who to choose a younger face. Matt Smith is only 26, and/but looks young enough for children to model themselves on him.

He's also quite posh – my online journalism blog has an interesting discussion relating to this – and therefore all set up to be much-loved by mums.

In short, he's the Blue Peter choice: someone the kids can idolise as a character and watch as an actor in CBBC interviews. I don't want to call him the safe option, because that would be naïve given my little knowledge of his style or what he'll bring to the role – plus the safe option would presumably be someone better-known and with more screen experience – but he is certainly the sensible choice for the BBC to make. He's young, and he's going to get people talking.

Job done.

I keep hearing that the next Doctor will be Paterson Joseph.

And I keep insisting I don't know who this person is, and that as good as it is to have a relative unknown playing such a famous role, it's important that they are at least a rising star (even though they're generally quite old), as Christopher Ecclestone and David Tennant were. I mean, Paterson Joseph? Who the hell is that?

Then I found out, just now, that he's Alan Johnson in Peep Show. He's bloody brilliant. I am now very excited - well, as much as I can be about a children's TV show that I watch only from time to time - about the prospect of his being the first black Doctor (uh, in Doctor Who terms, that is, not in general medicine). He's a great actor and I think he could add something new, just as David Tennant - truly one of the best - did.

Joseph's the favourite, but he's not in the TARDIS just yet. The announcement is coming at 5.35pm today, in a programme called Doctor Who Confidential (presumably not all that confidential) on BBC1.

Let me know your thoughts.

So then, this is the 25th (kinda) and last Week Spot blog post as you know it. From next week, it will be updated as and when something in the news catches my eye - as, indeed, a blog should be.

Maybe I'll do a weekly round-up again, but I doubt it. So until that day does or doesn't come, here's a bumper final edition of strange stories for you.

And everything's changing, mainly to do with people being removed from the public eye. OJ Simpson's been locked up, Diana Vickers has been voted off X-Factor and Darren Anderton's retired from professional football.

I think that's good, good or bad and bad news respectively, but I'd appreciate your input on that. What do you think?

OJ loses common sense, freedom
The British public loses another Diana
Official: left-handers plagued by statistics
Andy Fordham hits the maximum in weightloss
The Discman makes a comeback
Sicknote Anderton hangs up his boots

Dear oh dear. Opinion still seems to be divided over whether OJ Simpson murdered Nicole Brown and Ronald Goldman, of whose deaths he was found innocent in 'the trial of the century' in 1995, but we can all agree on something – he's stupid.

Surely OJ should have known for more than a decade now that every move he makes would be watched like a hawk by people aggrieved with the 'not guilty' murder verdict, the authorities and conspiracy theorists. He should have been wary of picking his nose in case it turned out to be holding evidence against him.

So with this in mind, his reaction to the supposed theft of some memorabilia was, well, a bit special. For a start, it's not like he was actually robbed. Two people were trying to sell memorabilia from OJ's footballing days and he claimed it still

belonged to him. Now, what do you do in that situation? Get legal on their arses? Let them peddle the useless wares? Or kidnap them at gunpoint and force them to give the stuff back? The latter, apparently. I think he's started to confuse his life with the movies he's been in.

Yet OJ claims, "I did not know that I was doing anything illegal." Uh... really? What part of it did you think was nice and legal, OJ? Was it the kidnapping or the armed robbery? Honestly, it's like he thinks he can get away with murder or something.

And so this time he's been sent down – down for 33 years (though it'll more likely be nine, when his parole is heard). Interesting. What's yet more interesting is that he was found guilty of this charge 13 years to the day after being acquitted in the murder trial. Some will call this justice; I just think it's the most beautiful irony.

Still, he's got only himself to blame. Silly boy.

So, Diana has been voted off X-Factor just one round before the grand final. I hear Mattel are desperate to get her voice into a range of Barbie dolls (complete with claw-like hands) to capitalise on the publicity. And the reaction of the rest of us is... conflicting, to say the least.

I haven't been watching X-Factor at all – I've drying paint that needs monitoring – but like many sceptics, I've been dragged in a bit by the drama. From the couple of performances I've seen, I know that some of them can sing, some of them can't, and Diana Vickers is definitely memorable.

That is to say, I don't know if I like her or hate her. She somehow manages to sound bloody awful and absolutely amazing at the same time – something not done since Bob Dylan, albeit in a very different way. I think yesterday's show proved that faster, louder songs don't suit her, which may well be why she was voted out (well, that and she annoys people), but she can belt out a ballad in at least a distinctive way. Put it this way: I don't know if I like it or not, but I still have her version of Coldplay's Yellow in my head. And since the winner is going to sing Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah and you know no one's going to do it better than Jeff Buckley, at least hers would be different from the norm.

The winners are generally dull. Leon? What's happened to him? At least he could sing, I think, which sets him apart from Ray Quinn, who is without a doubt one of the worst singers I have ever heard, and yet he came second a couple of years ago. Listen to him sometime. He doesn't sing any consonants.

Anyway, like her princess namesake, Diana's gone now – cast aside like the proverbial rag doll she physically resembles. As if it matters – she'll get a record contract and, like her 16-year-old rival and potential squeeze Eoghan, will add to the list of people more than 5 years younger than me (she's 17) and phenomenally more successful than I am.

Bastards.

More useless education statistics emerged recently. After the classic that was 'pupils born later in the year do worse in exams' (I've already written an article on that one), we're now told left-handed students don't test as well as their right-handed counterparts. Oh good, so we'll just make sure our children are right-handed, shall we? I'm sure a return to the 19th century will do us good, and make sure we all grow up in a right-handed utopia. But just to make sure, let's move back in time and culture completely and burn lefties at the stake for being witches.

This goes out to the BBC and educational researchers: STOP SPREADING ALARMISM. Non-stories of non-studies like this just lead idiots to worry, and they don't need the persuasion.

I'm not left-handed. But 7-10% of the population are, and please, just leave them alone. Five of the last seven Presidents of the USA – Ford, Reagen, Bush Snr., Clinton and Obama (and McCain as well) – have been left-handed. No one talks about that. Actually, that's probably for the best: the rednecks have enough to go on without our telling them the world is not only in the hands of a black guy, but a left-handed black guy.

I wonder if they've had to move the red button on his desk.

What the hell has happened to Andy Fordham? I am really, really glad he has decided to kick the drink (seriously, 23 bottles of lager a day?) and lose some weight but he looks emaciated. I mean, I suppose that's what losing 17 stone does to you, but I genuinely don't recognise him. I think it's an actor.

Oh well, good for him, I suppose. But he does look terrifying.

So the lesson here, kids, is if you want to avoid inevitable surgery, don't play darts.

And yet I can't find N64 controllers anywhere.

So. Farewell
Then
Darren Anderton.

You have played
Your last game. 599. You
Scored a volley in the dying minutes to grab a dramatic win for Bournemouth.

Well done.

Sicknote. That
Was your name.
People called you that
Because you were always
Injured.

Now you're
Retired.
But you're not dead.
Yet.

(With apologies to E. J. Thribb, 17½)

I'd have written more, but I'm afraid the BNP might lynch me.

[Disclaimer: to my knowledge, Jeff Stelling is not a Nazi.]

The BNP's 'little list' comes to light
The Sun drops the ball on Hitler
Countdown to oblivion

One of the funnier news stories this week has been the online publication of the BNP's members list. Everyone in the UK who is a member of the British National Party has had their names, addresses, phone numbers and in some cases e-mail addresses, professions and hobbies (racism!) broadcast to the world via the internet, and unsurprisingly, perhaps, most of them are now cowering in fear. What happened to the BNP being loud and proud?

OK, I'll be nice: it is understandable that these people are worried about having their membership and details leaked. After all, the BNP is a divisive party that has attracted its fair share of opposition.

Having your personal details made available for all to see is a bad experience for anyone (don't forget this is a pretty big invasion of privacy) but when you're hated by a lot of people, it's very dangerous. I know it'd worry me if people on the internet knew my home address, and I'm not on a vendetta against half of the country. And think how much worse it must be for these BNP members. In their minds, any violence or crime in the country is committed by immigrants, and now these Untermenschen know where they live. To the bunkers! Child, get my gun! The blacks want their revenge!

But again, I shouldn't laugh at the fact that BNP members, however detestable, have their details on display because guess what – the backlash has already begun. And when you add to these personal threats the potential for identity fraud and violence, you can see why the list should probably be taken down.

Still, it's funny, isn't it? And it is at least good for them to feel how they make so many others feel: threatened. Even if their details are removed from the internet tomorrow (and regrettably, they should be), they have had just under a week of discomfort, anxiety or even terror. That is definitely worth it.

It's just a shame that members have, in fact, been threatened, because it only contributes to their feeling of victimhood. Whenever anyone calls the BNP rubbish they claim we're denying the truth (look at their response to Hazel Blears' recent accusation) and whenever we stop them spreading their racial hatred they claim we're denying their right to free speech, which only helps their cause. So for humanity's sake, we need to stay above their level. I only hope no one uses the publication of its members' details to start some actual violence against the BNP.

If you're interested and/or suspicious of anyone, here is the list at the imaginatively-titled www.bnpmemberslist.co.uk. Speaking of moral responsibility, I'm not sure how mature the e-mail responses made by the site's creator are, but I did laugh at the line, "I realise it must be tough for you during these times of free speech, democracy and gangster rap", followed by, "I hope you enjoyed the US election."

Fine, I'm a child.

If there's ever been a story to have tabloid editors wetting themselves in delight, it's this one. It's official: Hitler had only one ball. Let the mocking, singing and football hooliganism commence.

What I want to know is: where did The Sun find that absolutely perfect photo?
Still, it's good of the newspaper not to launch a campaign against Johan Jambor, claiming he should have killed Hitler when he had the chance. There's actually a surprisingly small amount of anti-Germanic feeling in the whole article. Good on you, boys.

But then that's the The Sun for you: occasionally, they show evidence of having ethical standards in their paper. Now never mind the bollocks – here's the sex pictures.

Oh God.

The daytime TV staple for tax-dodging students and coffin-dodging geriatrics everywhere, Countdown, has announced its new presenter and sidekick combo. The new Carol Vorderman is to be Rachel Riley, which is one hell of a graduate job for the 22-year-old and hopefully one that won't lead to her demanding huge salaries and repossessing people's homes through dodgy debt consolidation agencies, and the new Richard Whiteley/Des Lynam/Des O'Connor is to be Sky Sports presenter Jeff Stelling. Jeff Stelling! Wowzers!

For those of you who don't know, Jeff Stelling is the presenter of Soccer Saturday, and one of the most annoying men on television. Have a look at the man in action. He's insane.

Stelling is quite famous for doing crazy stuff such as this, but look beyond the James Brown bit into the way he actually speaks – like he's desperately trying not to go to the toilet and keeps being prodded in the back at unspecified intervals. He just keeps shouting random words for no reason. He's going to be bloody awful presenting Countdown "A SEVEN, eh, GORDON? That's NOT BAD but it's not a 9-LETTER WORD, IS IT? SUSIE! What have YOU GOT over there in Dictionary CORNER?" They'd be better off with Brian Blessed.

Actually, that would be brilliant.

We've already had the discussion – well, my excuses – about why this blog sometimes reaches extreme length, so I won't go into it again. Suffice to say that it's fairly long again today. But I did find, in writing the opening piece about Tory sleaze, that sometimes you don't need to say much to convey a point. Readers are generally bright enough to work out a lot for themselves. I will have to bear this in mind in future. It'll save us all a bit of time.

Same Old (S)Tory
Strictly Come Goosestepping
'Arry Spurs on Tottenham
The leopard changes his spots
Police warned of race concerns

Some things never change in politics. At this stage of a post I would normally say that the fall-out of the situation involving George Osborne and Russian businessmen has been interesting, but it hasn't, really, because we've seen it all before.

i) Accusations of Tory sleaze

ii) Labour attacking them for said accusations of Tory sleaze, with appropriate response

iii) The Tories swiftly changing the subject (and, in a fitting tribute to the everlasting stasis of British politics, changing it to the matter of bureaucracy and excess in the civil service – Yes Minister lives on)

iv) A question of right-wing media bias (why would The Daily Telegraph print and drag out this complete non-story of Osborne using a budget airline other than to make him look better?)

v) The public calling for the offender's head...

vi)... and only getting a piece of it

Stop me if you've heard this one before.

The BBC has been 'rocked' by complaints from, uh, people on its messageboard saying that Strictly Come Dancing's public vote is racist.

It's PC gone mad, I tell ye!*

The BBC claims it has not received any formal complaints about the programme, but the Olympic sprinter (and part-time spokesman for the black community, it would seem) John Regis has spoken out after Heather Small, singer in M People, and Don Warrington, star of Rising Damp and a personal hero of mine, came bottom in the vote, and Warrington was voted off the programme. "It is not like sport, when it's down to performance," said Regis. "Other factors come into play. Strictly is a middle-class kind of show and that possibly could be the area where racism still festers. I feel sorry for Don" (but not Heather Small, apparently – maybe she just really can't dance).

I personally have the impression that Don Warrington would be an excellent ballroom dancer, if only because he has that aristocratic air about him in his acting. Say what you like about actors – they do have natural rhythm.

Whether most of the kind of people who vote on Strictly Come Dancing are racist is a matter known only to God and themselves (and, worryingly, usually not even themselves). One thing is for sure, though: the claim made by John Regis and others is possibly the hardest thing in the world to prove. People's motives aren't questioned on phone-in votes, and if they were I don't think it would help. It's hard enough to get right-wing Texan hillbillies to admit they hate Barack Obama because he's black; try getting an admission of racism from middle-class coffin-dodgers with a paranoid sense of victimhood.

Also, there are no analytical means of measuring this wrongful dismissal, such as it is. Supposedly the show's judges decided Warrington and Small's separate performances were better than those of the three white celebrities competing against them, but is that really enough to accuse the public of racism? Colin Jackson was runner-up a few years ago, and last year's winner Alesha Dixon is mixed-race. This vote could just be a coincidence, or a crap idea of what constitutes good dancing. Who knows? And given that it's Strictly Come Dancing, who even cares?

Actually, I care. Racism is bad. But good luck proving this is an example of it.

*Please, please realise I'm joking. I would never use this phrase with any kind of sincerity.

So, Juande Ramos is gone – and Gus Poyet, and Marcos Alvarez, and Damien Comolli – and Harry Redknapp is in charge of Tottenham Hotspur FC. It's perhaps a bit late for his wheeler-dealer antics to be of much help now, at least until the transfer window reopens, but Spurs will be desperate for anything at the moment, and in 'Arry, they've not gone far wrong.

His appointment's worked already, with Spurs claiming a 2-0 victory over Bolton – their first win of the season, and one that brings the team more points than they

got from the past eight games. Admittedly this wasn't really anything directly to do with Redknapp, since the team was picked by development squad coach Clive Allen, but the catalyst was there for a team knowing now that there's a future. That goes for the fans, too: Redknapp received a fantastic reception.

Tottenham's decline has been nothing short of incredible. Just look at the change in forwards. It takes some effort to move in a couple of years from a choice of Berbatov, Defoe, Robbie Keane and an on-form Mido to having a tired and unsettled Pavlyuchenko, 21-year-old Fraizer Campbell on loan from Manchester United as compensation for the Berbatov transfer (appalling business sense from Spurs) and, well, Darren Bent. It's been tragedy for the fans; comedy for everyone else.

Even so, though, I wasn't sure about The Guardian's coverage of the club's decline – printing an entire page of jokes at Spurs' expense. One or two in a box, maybe, or even a mini-feature in a side bar, but a whole page on Page 3 of the Sport section dedicated to jokes? A tad lazy in my view.

The Redknapp era should bring prosperity for Tottenham, but the task for now is clearly to avoid relegation. I think it will happen, and with a degree of ease (I predict 15th). But I am left wondering why he took the job on. He has said it's an opportunity to manage a big club before retirement, but Portsmouth are a big club – thanks to him. He's taken Pompey from the old Division 1 to being regular candidates for the top 6 and FA Cup winners. Why go to Spurs?

I guess he needs a new challenge. He's definitely found one.

People are often surprised by my opposition towards tattoos – not towards people having them, but the idea of having one myself. I don't know why they're surprised: maybe with my long hair and beard, I look like the kind of guy who should have questionable life codes inked into his arm. But I don't, and, like many, I simply do not understand what would bring someone to do this to him- or herself. What is wrong with these people?

Anyway, bottom on that list is the Leopard Man of Skye, previously the most tattooed man in the world, and he's moving house. No big story there, you might feel, but this is a man who hasn't really lived in a house for quite some time. He has spent the last 20 years living in a makeshift cabin with plastic sheeting for a roof, no electricity or furniture and requiring a three-mile canoe trip for his shopping. But at the age of 73, he has decided he is "getting too old for that kind of life" and has moved into a one-bed house.

Clearly he's not THAT much of a nutter then. But it is interesting that he has managed to afford this house. He must have had money stashed away during his days of being a hermit

A solution to surviving the recession, perhaps?

... and the Award for the Most Misleading Headline of the Week, which I should really make a regular feature, goes to the BBC. When I read the above headline, and found it was one of the most popular stories on the news site, I was expecting it to have more to do with accusations of racism levelled against Ian Blair or whoever his successor is.

But no, it's about the Original Mountain Marathon in the Lake District, which saw hundreds of people stranded by flooding and torrential rain. Which is a completely different story. Never mind.

(If you're wondering, the best misleading headline ever was in The Metro just last month. When Helen Mirren admitted to having done drugs in the past, the London paper led with THE QUEEN: I DID COCAINE. Now, that's just not true, is it? Attention-grabbing, though, I must admit.)

I may have allowed my fervour towards an opt-out organ donation system to take over the blog this week, so please accept my apologies if it's not as diverse as you have come to expect. It's a fascinating issue, though, and I hope that you will read it and become as passionate about it as I am.

And I've included two quickies after it as well. Generous, that's me.

Hart's in the right place
Commercial breakdown
Who You Gonna Call?

Leave it to Wales to inject some hope into the state of healthcare provision in the UK. Leave it to Wales. And it seems the British Government is quite happy to do just that.

In the interest of fairness, I should say that this isn't always down to Westminster being rubbish – well, sometimes it is – but the Welsh Assembly being brilliant. Thanks to the Assembly, Wales has free prescriptions and free hospital parking. Good, innit? And now it may have an opt-out organ donation system ahead of England as well (not that it's a competition or anything), allowing every dead person's organs to be used for donation unless they specifically request they are not, instead of the current process of getting organs just from registered donors. When it comes to healthcare, the Welsh Assembly pulls out the stops the British Government seems happy to leave in.

Seeing Edwina Hart, Health Minister of the Welsh Assembly, refuse to dismiss the possibility of an opt-out donation system is more than encouraging – it's inspiring. Often, the Welsh Assembly seems braver than its bigger brother; more adaptable to new ideas and readier to make controversial decisions, especially in healthcare. This may be because any outcry in Wales is smaller than in England – the Welsh, as a rule, aren't big on political activity (look at that turnout: a quarter of the Welsh population actively wanted a devolved parliament) – and it may be because the Assembly's jurisdiction is simply smaller, but the fact is that on a political level, healthcare in Wales looks rosy.

And in this case, it has taken some balls – ironic, since Edwina Hart (presumably) doesn't have any. She has essentially overruled the Assembly health committee's decision not to apply for the right to adopt an opt-out system in Wales. Rejecting a committee's recommendation is a statement of intent and then some: the aptly-named Hart has told politicians that a change in organ donation is going to be discussed whether they like it or not.

Personally, I can't wait. Like TV licensing chiefs, I love hearing people's excuses, sad as they are. "We have a right to keep our organs when we die." "It's wrong to take from a dead person even if it might save a life." None as yet have beaten the excuse raised by John Reid, supported by many and picked up by a writer in The Telegraph a while back (sadly, I can't find a link but rest assured it was probably Simon Heffer because the man's an idiot): "I am not giving my organs to the state." No, you're not. You're giving them to a dying person who needs them to live. Listen to yourself: surely you cannot believe what you are saying. Leave 'the state' out of it, you tit, and stop dragging politics into this simple case of life and death.

Chairman of the spurned committee, Conservative health spokesman Jonathan Morgan (boo hiss) accused Hart of ignoring "the hypothetical reasons why presumed consent could prove difficult to introduce". Hmm, not overly specific. That sounds like a pretty poor excuse to me: an excuse for an excuse, even. And the conclusion to this article – "It is possible to make a case for an opt-out system that favours the living over the dead, but it is not consent and let us not pretend that it is" – is absolute nitpicking.

People may be coming around to the obvious benefits of a system that presumes consent to donate your organs after death unless you deliberately opt out. Prospects aren't as bleak as the future for thousands of patients under the current system. Gordon Brown has given the thumbs-up to an opt-out system, and a "UK Government taskforce" – whatever that may be – is due to report on the matter in a few months. If Wales can lead the way, the rest of Britain may follow. We can only hope. Maybe in just a few years, all of Britain will be able to enjoy an opt-out organ donation system, free hospital parking and prescriptions without charge.

Then again, maybe not.

Everybody's talking about it: Lloyds TSB is ready to take over Halifax Bank of Scotland (HBOS). Halifax is just the first stop on "the journey" Lloyds TSB keeps promising us, and we can all look forward to them picking up Nationwide, Bradford & Bingley and Alliance & Leicester at various stations nationwide (including Bradford and Leicester, presumably) on the way to oblivion.

And all the repercussions of the Halifax-Lloyds merger are being considered: job losses, market shares and even the name of the new merger (I propose Lloyds TSB: Bank of Scotland, Halifax, or LTSB: BOSH for short).

One thing people haven't thought about is the adverts. Merging the incredibly irritating "Hoh hoh hoh hoh, hoh hoh, hoh hoh hoh hoh, hoh hoh, hoh hoh hoh hoh, hoh hoh, hoh hoh hoh hoh HAAAAAH" Lloyds TSB tune with the even more irritating Halifax song-and-dance adverts could be the most damaging symptom of the recession. It's bad enough that Thomas from Leeds singing "Something tells me I'm into something good" has taken on ironic quantities usually reserved for standing ovations at the Liberal Democrat party conference, without badly-drawn women with big noses elbowing him out the way and yodelling melodiously at the tops of their voices.

This Must Be Stopped.

Here's an interesting one: a millionaire being chased out of his 52-room mansion by ghosts.

Obviously my heart goes out to Mr Rashid and his family, but some of the supposed supernatural activity does sound a bit... well... natural. Sounds of tapping on the wall? Voices? Mysterious figures? Ghostly presences taking the forms of their children? Is there not the slightest chance this crazy activity could be less due to Casper and his mates and more attributable to their children?

Rashid doesn't sound like he's the sharpest tool in the box. "The ghosts didn't want us to be there," he said, "and we could not fight them because we couldn't see them." I have this vision of Rashid charging around with an axe swiping at thin air. That might explain the blood stains.

Actually, yes, "unexplained blood stains on bedclothes" was another puzzle. Apparently the house dates back to the Norman period; I reckon the stains date back to a normal period. It's not much fun coming of age when you're a young girl, but I'm sure Rashid's seven-year-old daughter doesn't appreciate a national story being made out of it. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd been the one who told her dad it was a ghost in the first place, rather than her own body. Obviously she's a bit young to be experiencing that rite of passage at the age of seven, but they did call the blood stains "unexplained" and besides, it's never easy to tell your parents about that kind of thing – I should imagine "unexplained" isn't the half of it.

Alternatively, it's a bunch of racist landowners frightening off the rich Rashid family by dressing up as ghosts Scooby Doo-style (I heard the programme's become very politically aware these days). "Paranormal experts were unable to solve the problem." Strange, that.

My money's on an insurance claim. And so is his.

OK, so last week Huw Davies' Week Spot became Huw Davies' Weak Spot as I failed to post, well, anything of note. But hey, that's in the past now! So let's get back on track with a fresh look at the week that is now, uh, in the past.

I knew there was a flaw in this somewhere.

(By the way, the title 'No. 10' refers not just to the focus on Downing Street in the first article, but that this is also the 10th Week Spot post. Thanks for sticking with me through the rough patches.)

Move along, nothing to see here
Tsvangirai ready to dance with the devil
In defence of Andy Murray
One small step for reality TV; one giant leap for mankind

Divisions in the Government mean it's to the bunkers again as The Sunday Telegraph proclaims 'LABOUR IN CIVIL WAR'. It'd be enough to get you worried if it wasn't for the fact that this is probably the fourth time they've declared a civil war in the Government in the last few weeks. When did it start exactly?

Anyway, rifts do seem to be rife – but leadership challengers AWOL. It seems that many Labour MPs have nothing better to do than shout for a new leader, but when it comes to suggesting one they mutter, grumble and draw cartoons of Gordon Brown with an arrow through his head.

Brown needs a good autumn and a better winter. It doesn't look as though he is going to deposed now, because no one seems ready to take his place (alternatively, this makes interesting reading). This is why the timing of the Glenrothes by-election is crucial. If Brown waits and waits, toughing it all out all the while,

rides out the storm to emerge the other side and somehow wins that by-election, he's right back on track. But if he waits and loses, he is done for. If he holds the by-election now and loses (which he almost certainly will), he might just get away with it. Is it right to lose a seat to save the PM? Sometimes a pawn must be sacrificed for a king. But then I was never any good at chess.

The point is this: no one is coming forth to lead the country, so Gordon Brown is safer than he may seem. The Labour Party is not. They are at a crossroads and they need to take one of two paths (uh, maybe more of a fork in the road, then). Either unite and resolve to force a leadership challenge or shut up, show some genuine party unity and get behind Brown.

And yes, some of this is up to Brown himself. By carrot or by stick, he needs to regain control of his party. The party needs to either let this happen, or find someone else to take control instead. This is government, for goodness' sake – the country needs a leader with his own people behind him, not behind him with a dagger at the ready.

Decisions, decisions. Someone's got to make one.

Forget 'WORLD WAR 3 BREAKS OUT'. Forget 'McCAIN WINS AMERICAN ELECTION'. This may well be the most terrifying headline I can ever imagine.

'MORGAN TSVANGIRAI: "I WILL HAVE TO TRUST MUGABE"'

That sends a shiver down my spine. I don't pretend to understand African politics all that well, but I do know that Robert Mugabe is one of the most evil men alive – stop me when I get too emotionally involved – and that trusting him may be a risky strategy. Apologies for succumbing to Godwin's Law, but Chamberlain trusted Hitler and look where that got us. He invaded Britain, won the war and now we all speak German (wait, what?).

Sorry. I don't want to make a mockery of what is a seriously tragic situation in Zimbabwe. And to be fair, I don't think Tsvangirai wants to trust Mugabe. He just realises he may have to. But this is why the power-sharing solution isn't a solution at all: Tsvangirai's MDC will only ever be a junior partner to Mugabe's Zanu-PF, they will struggle to exert any influence over him and atrocities will continue.

But then, I suppose, what else could Tsvangirai do? Not a lot. It's still up to other nations to intervene in some way, and I worry that this new development involving a sharing of power will only delay that, while governments naïvely think they can stop worrying about this troublesome country for a while. More positively, they may be giving the new system time to work, and I suppose this has to happen – but surely, a few months should be enough to see if there is at least any movement towards change. And again, I'm not confident, because Mugabe is not some repentant sinner looking o right his wrongs. He never saw his crimes as wrongs, and sees no reason to change the status quo.

Tsvangirai told The Independent on Sunday, "When you negotiate, you ought to have faith and confidence in each other. Otherwise, there is no point in negotiating, because you are bound to fail. I am therefore giving [Mugabe] the benefit of the doubt." Except of course, in this case there WAS point in negotiating without having faith and confidence in your partner, and that's that there was no way Tsvangirai was going to win through the ballot box. Hell, he did, and he still didn't prise Mugabe from power. This is not a man to whom you give the benefit of the doubt.

I know he's been pressured into this, and that it's not ideal circumstances for him. But I just hope Tsvangirai knows what lies in store. Because mark my words: this is not the beginning of democracy in Zimbabwe. I hope and pray it is, but I'm a man of lesser faith than its new co-leader.

So on Sunday 7th/Monday 8th September (depending where you live), Andy Murray played Roger Federer in the US Open final, and lost. It was a sad day for him and a predictable day for everyone. All in all, it was probably a lovely birthday present for Tim Henman, who turned 34 the day before the final: for all his proclamations of support, confidence and hope for Murray, the fact remains that it's hard to like anyone doing your job better than you, especially when that job is entertaining the British crowd as well as looking like you might win something, neither of which Henman could do.

But 'Tiger Tim' can sleep easily at night knowing that, inexplicably, he's still more popular than Andy Murray. For some reason, soon to be discussed, everyone – or at least everyone I've met – hates the talented young Scot.

And I think the reasons lie in those three words: "talented young Scot". The first two are an unhappy couple in jealous armchair sports fanatics: it's hard not to feel a bit useless when you're watching someone achieve so much more than you ever could at the same age you finished university (and I'm not just talking about myself here, although I am struggling to come to terms with being older than two of the top four tennis players in the world – Murray and Djokovic – and only four months younger than one of the others, Rafael Nadal). So Murray's young and talented, and finally, he's Scottish. And therein lies the hatred. Good old-fashioned racism.

To be fair to Murray-haters, they probably aren't racists and I doubt most hold anything against the Scottish apart from perhaps a mild xenophobia. It may be the same general mistrust that a lot of people – not least the idiot Kelvin MacKenzie – love showing towards Gordon Brown now the 'mean, Scottish, money-grabbing Chancellor' has become the 'mean, Scottish, money-grabbing Prime Minister'. It may be that English tennis fans don't like the idea of a Scotsman representing the UK ahead of anyone else. It may just be that they don't like the premise of a Monty Python sketch being ruined (do your own research for that one). It may be any of these things, but it seems that regardless of how well he does, Murray is in for a hard time from his own compatriots. Still, he's only got himself to blame. Because it can all be traced back to this comment:

"I'll be supporting anyone but England."

These words, spoken in reference to the 2006 Football World Cup, consigned him to a lifetime of antipathy in the views of many, many English people. It doesn't matter that he has no reason to support England; it doesn't matter that he was joking. It's too late now. He spat in the eyes of English sports fans, and they don't want their beams messed with, thank you very much, but by the way, you've got a mote in yours.

Obviously not everyone feels this way about Murray, or at least claim they don't. But the other arguments for disliking him do seem pretty thin. Most say it's because he's arrogant. Really? The man who told everyone not to get carried away when he first burst onto the scene? The man who readily admits to having faults in his game and confessed to not having prepared enough for the Olympics? The man who, after his recent defeat to Federer, was self-effacing, had only praise for his opponent and avoided making excuses such as a lack of time to prepare? Sorry, where's the fault there?

Is it all the emotions he pours out in a game? Yes, he does look like a bit of a tit. He's practically demonic in this photo, with the rectangular mouth and all. But why should we hate him for wearing his heart on his sleeve? He's showing a bit of fire; that he cares, and after following in the footsteps of a British no1 who looked like farting was just too much effort, he should be applauded for it.

Or is it that he does well? Deny it all you like: the British love a gallant loser. But as a sporting nation, we're starting to thrive. Look at the Olympics! Look at the Paralympics! Look at the Champions' League! It's OK, we can win things now!

So we're back to the racism card again, which wasn't an issue until he said he wouldn't support the English football team. I don't expect you to agree with me, but I think that's what it boils down to. Sorry.

My next and last subject matter may surprise some of you, since a) it relates to something that happened a while ago and b) I hate reality TV. But I've heard a lot of talk about it this week, making it suitable for a 'week spot', and it means I get to include 'Gossip' as a topic tag now.

So, as I understand it, there's a once-popular programme every year on Channel 4, T4, E4, More4, EvenMore4, YetMore4, SurelyThereCanBeNoMore4, YourFour, MyFour, OurFour, TheirFour, Channel 4 + 1, E4 + 1, More 4 + 1, More 4 + 2 = 6, 4OD, 4COD, 4ADHD, ScoreFour, BoreFour, ChoreFour, PoorFour, HardcoreFour, Softcore4, IntermediatecoreFour, ForeplayFour, WhoreFour, SoreFour, LawFour, WarFour, I Can't Believe It's Not Four, I Can't Believe It's Not Four + 1 and certain frequencies of Al-Jazeera that's called Big Brother. And, as I understand it, someone called Rachel won this year (?). Finally, I am led to understand that she's incredibly boring and may have spelt the death of reality television.

Give the woman an MBE.

But yes, she won, did she? And she beat some bloke who was really nasty? Called Rex? Is that right? And Rachel winning when she's, like, sooooo boring is bad for the programme?

But good for humanity, surely. The British public chose someone nice over a complete and utter bastard (American election voters, take note). That's very encouraging. What with Jade Goody's illness turning people into monsters who think she's somehow faking cancer or if not that she deserves it – I mean, I hate Jade Goody but I wouldn't wish cancer on her... maybe that she stubbed her toe one morning – it's good to know there might still be some hope for humanity yet.

And when you're drawing that conclusion from reality TV, you know you're in trouble.