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Huw Davies is a young writer and sub-editor pursuing a career in journalism, spending his time reading articles, writing articles and watching Neighbours. He recently completed a postgraduate diploma in magazine journalism at Cardiff University, a course so rigorous he developed pneumonia.

Huw is now sub-editing at Haymarket's Medical Imprint, while also maintaining a weekly Premier League predictions blog on fourfourtwo.com. Occasionally, he gets one right.

Before this work began Huw wrote for a wide range of publications, including G2, Psychologies, The Big Issue Cymru, The South Wales Echo, One In Four magazine and The Essex Chronicle, who still owe him a phone call.

His most successful work was arguably for Cardiff University’s award-winning weekly student newspaper gair rhydd, editing the Editorial & Opinion section and writing fortnightly columns under the pseudonym Rasputin. Huw won four Cardiff Student Media Awards, including Best Interview for a one-to-one with Welsh rugby hero Shane Williams and Best Opinion Writer two years running. The judges were impressed with a selection of articles written under the guise of Rasputin on subjects ranging from education reform to links between his beard and international terrorism.

The fourth award came with a feature in gair rhydd, which more importantly won him the coveted Student Journalist of the Year award from leading mental health charity, Mind.

Huw confronted his problems with obsessive-compulsive disorder to search for the truth about the condition in a piece that judges called a "down-to-earth take on living with OCD", "imaginatively written from first-hand experience". Huw accepted the award at Kingsway Hall Hotel in London, where he met Mind President Lord Melvyn Bragg, who has giant hands. The piece also saw him shortlisted for Best Diversity Writer at the Guardian Student Media Awards.

Having graduated from Cardiff University with the postgraduate diploma in magazine journalism and a BA Hons in English Literature, somehow finishing second in the year and achieving a First despite spending most of his time playing snooker (much to the amusement of anyone who saw him try), Huw is settling into working life and wondering whether he should update his blog more often.

Shortlisted, Diversity Writer of the Year, Guardian Student Media Awards 2009
Runner-up, Best gair rhydd Section (Editorial & Opinion), Cardiff Student Media Awards 2008

You are looking for opinion writing that either a) shows versatility and good research or b) tells you something special…So Huw Davies’ ability to blend personal experience and some decent research findings just topped my bill.

Huw Davies and Chris Croissant deserve congratulations for putting together such a diverse and original set of articles.

A gripping and well-written feature which managed to be informative, non-self-pitying and witty.

Huw writes with both authenticity and rigour, balancing personal experience and thorough and creative research in his feature with a high degree of professionalism... This was a strong example of the voice of someone with personal experience breaking down the stigma surrounding the condition.

Huw Davies – ah Huw Davies again – makes the OCD spread so much fresher by approaching it from a personal point of view.

Keeping The Faith, Keeping The Facial Hair (November 2007)
Why is it excusable for the authorities to treat Muslims (and me) as potential terrorists?

Living With OCD (August 2008)
A look into obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), as featured in The Guardian's G2 supplement

Living With An Obsession (February 2008)
My original look into obsessive-compulsive disorder

Williams the Conqueror (March 2009)
An exclusive interview with Welsh rugby legend Shane Williams

Blair. Fair. (February 2007)
The Government's firmness towards Catholic adoption agencies spells good news for gay parents

Poor Old John Prescott (June 2006)
Leave the big guy alone

Bland Designs (May 2008)
The ambitious plans for Cardiff University's Students' Union building make absolutely no sense

Vocation, Vocation, Vocation (February 2008)
Underqualified graduates have overly theory-based degrees to blame

Highlight Of The Year Or A Right Summer Balls-Up? (June 2008)
Whoever organised Cardiff University's Summer Ball doesn't seem to care about the students

The Rise And Rise Of Moral TV (October 2007)
Programmes need to stop preaching

News has been singularly... singular this week, focusing on very little more than the fact we're all going to die. Sorry, I meant in relation to the credit crunch. Money isn't everything, people will tell you, but you can guarantee those people don't have investments in Iceland. People are justifiably terrified. And so it is that everyone equates losing their money with ultimate doom, on a personal as well as a global scale.

And no more so than the media, which has used this financial meltdown to give a masterclass in epic reporting – epic not just in the apparently apocalyptic situation, but in the sheer amount of space devoted to reporting it ("Read our coverage on pages 1-9!"). It's impressive, it's arguably necessary and it's definitely an opportunity worth taking if you're an editor, but the dramatic approaches taken by tabloids and broadsheets alike have made the mayor of New Orleans, clearly auditioning for a role in a disaster movie, look positively small-town.

I mean, I'd expect it from The Independent: if the Indy's front page isn't telling us we're all going to die it's because it's telling us to stop killing all the other species first. But The Guardian leading with the headline 'Staring into the abyss' was unexpected, especially when it came after a potentially encouraging bail-out proposal from the Government. They could have presented that very, very differently. Still, as much as people want to hear good news it's bad news that sells papers and at the moment, bad news is one of the few currencies in good stock. Even in the crunch, newspaper sales are booming. As far as the media's concerned, this is the Golden Age.

Banks not waving but drowning
Mugabe in 'Bastard' shocker
To Boo or Not To Boo
Square Pegg Round Hollywood
Banjo surgery

Due to the nature of this once-a-week blog, it's actually incredibly difficult to comment on the current economic crisis because it develops far too quickly. Even during the course of a Government meeting people were losing money. There's not a lot I can add that will remain new by the time this goes live – but I do find it interesting that as I write, four major British banks have just asked the Government for up to £50 billion of taxpayers' money. With what I said above in mind, I look forward to Monday's headlines.

With an announcement being planned before the markets open on Monday, I won't attempt to predict nor evaluate the Government's response. The request itself intrigues me. It's highly unlikely RBS, HBOS, Lloyds TSB and Barclays would try to pull a fast one and capitalise on capitalism's crisis because the risk is just too great if the public ever finds out these banks were being charlatans with their hard-earned money. So they must actually need this money urgently. Nevertheless, you do wonder what they were expecting to have to do in return. Money doesn't grow on trees, even for the biggest branches.

Dear God, that was awful.

The Government is expecting to demand something back from these banks such as a curb on executive pay, although the terms will be decided individually. This is likely to have been predicted by the banks; either that or someone has made a monumental cock-up in the ideas department on the 17th floor. "Look, the Government's giving out freebies – let's get it in on this." "We heard back, and they said they'll give us the money, but you have to give up your bonuses." "Ah. Bugger."

It's more likely, though, that the banks saw this coming and still asked for the money, suggesting that they are, indeed, in trouble, or at least in need of a little shoring up (not that that is any more comforting to their customers). Such is the danger of getting loans from American banks in questionable financial situations. As a great Allied Dunbar ad once said, there may be trouble ahead for customers of RBS, Lloyds TSB, HBOS and Barclays. Not that it mentioned those banks specifically, 'cos, y'know, that's libellous.

There's also a danger that the Lloyds TSB-HBOS acronymic nightmare of a takeover might fall through, because Lloyds TSB wants to pay less now that HBOS managed to raise £12bn for the buy-out (more here). Sorry, guys. Read The Small Print. Try Before You Buy. Don't Save A Drowning Man If He'll Make You Drown Too. Look Both Ways Before You Cross The Road. Maybe not the last one. But yes, if they want to pay less money now because circumstances have changed then they should be told 'bad luck but that's life'. You'd think they'd know that right now.

Still, the Government might swing their way – and the ways of Barclays, and HBOS, and RBS. It'll be interesting to see what happens.

Disclaimer: I may or may not know anything about economics. And if you're wondering if I'm personally concerned about what's going on, don't worry – I'm fine. My money's with IceSave.

A few weeks ago I expressed my concern over Morgan Tsvangirai, Prime Minister of Zimbabwe, admitting he would just "have to trust" co-leader President Robert Mugabe. Obviously Tsvangirai's not an idiot, and knew of what was in store when he agreed to share power with one of the most evil men to walk this earth (excuse the bias). Just a month later, however, the man Zimbabwe is relying upon has threatened to pull out of. It's all very well to mutter the words 'can't', 'stand', 'heat' and 'kitchen', but Mugabe's not just pulling funny faces – he wants to choose what government ministries his Zanu-PF party can control.

Were it a lesser offence you could claim, probably inaccurately, that Tsvangirai is just throwing his toys out the pram, but this negotiation over the division of ministries is one of the most important, and deadly serious, parts of the power-sharing deal. Mugabe is demanding that Zanu-PF is responsible for 14 of the 30 ministries, the main MDC 13 seats and the splinter faction of MDC, led by Arthur Mutambara, 3. Not so bad, you might think, but what ministries does Mugabe want? Defence, the media (i.e. Zanu-PF propaganda), foreign affairs (including aid) and, most terrifyingly of all, 'justice'. It would be funny were it not so tragic.

Tsvangirai, whose jurisdiction as leader of the MDC would include sport, the arts and the largely redundant ministry of constitutional affairs (the power!), has, thankfully, opposed this, but sadly he is not in a position to do much more than threaten resignation. This would effectively make governing Zimbabwe impossible, throwing quite a large spanner in the works, but it is worrying that he has to resort to this: threats to leave government himself, rather than threats to force Mugabe out. He is still very weak in this supposedly equal power-share, and although this is clearly a better situation than it was, it's not going to be enough for Tsvangirai to threaten a walk-out every time Mugabe tries his usual tricks, because he'll just keep doing it.

In short, if it's going to be a case of two steps forward, three steps back, then some sort of intervention is still needed.

(As a side note, has anyone noticed that Tsvangirai looks a bit like Guy Goma, the bloke mistakenly interviewed live by the BBC when they got the wrong man? Just me then.)

As much as I hate to sound like someone writing into Newsround, I think it's very sad that Ashley Cole was booed after his mistake led to a Kazakhstani goal in England's 5-1 victory at Wembley. I don't like the guy either – he cheated on Sheryl Crow! – but this was just one of those things. Everyone makes mistakes, and ultimately, it didn't matter. Picking out an individual player to harass because of one error when the entire team has spent the first half playing like lemons is a bit harsh, even if he is crap.

Since Americans supposedly love nerdy British charm, it's no real surprise that übergeek Simon Pegg has been welcomed into Hollywood. His new film How To Lose Friends And Alienate People, based on the memoirs of journalist Toby Young, has been a hit despite being, well, rubbish, and he's playing Scotty in the next Star Trek film. And now he has himself a book deal.

A three-book, seven-figure book deal, no less. The first will be an autobiography on his career, and the second and third will be non-fiction also.

Fair play to him, I suppose. But none of this seems right somehow. I know he's got to move on from Spaced and the like, but I've not been impressed by some of his recent career decisions.

There is definitely going to be a final part of the Edgar Wright/Simon Pegg/Nick Frost/Nira Park film trilogy, which is fantastic news, but I wasn't impressed that he apparently turned down the role of Rorschach in the new Watchmen adaptation – a nihilistic straight role in which he could potentially brilliant – then he appeared in a woeful romcom version of a true story about someone that nobody likes. Maybe he liked the challenge of trying to make Toby Young popular, but I don't think it's his responsibility to do that. He also alienated his good friend and co-worker Jessica Hynes somewhat when he took the departure into films; according to an interview she gave a couple of months ago, she felt she lost a friend. The book deal just seems to confirm that he's becoming less interested in making exciting new films, which is a shame.

Still, who am I, his mother? I'm sure he'll come good. The man's a hero for squares everywhere.

Finally, this is interesting.

I've always said banjos have a great purpose in life.

Sometimes I think there’s too much news. There were at least ten stories I wanted to write about or at least mention this week, but that would be playing havoc on my timetable and your patience.

For one, my local rag The Essex Chronicle – average paper, average toilet paper, brilliant inspirator for the best send-up of local news there is, The Framley Examiner – had a piece this week on an anonymous benefactor who paid a man’s court fine and gave him money to feed his nine children. He called himself Robin Hood. Admirable, certainly, but questionable too: if he lives by Robin Hood’s standards, he has presumably been helping the poor by first stealing from the rich.

One for the authorities, I feel.

Ultimately – and I predict this to be a sad necessity that won’t go away – I have to pick and choose what to write about.

But by no means are these the biggest stories of the week. Writing about the news doesn't always work that way. Sometimes I find a story interesting but know others won't. Sometimes the story is interesting but doesn’t provoke enough of a reaction in me to warrant writing my opinions on it, or I simply don’t have much to say on the matter. Sometimes I don’t have the space in this blog to study and evaluate the subtle complexities of a case and strengths and weaknesses of an argument.

And sometimes I just don't care.

Brown loses the dole poll
Obama's speech raises questions as well as answers
'Kiss and tell' stories Maxed out by Mosley
Okereke shaky after Johnny gets Rotten
They don't know they're born

When it was announced that under new Government plans unemployed people will have to work for their benefit payouts, I immediately reminded myself to keep a close eye on the by-election in Glasgow East just a few days later. Glasgow East has more benefit claimants than any other constituency. Announcing the plans days before this crucial by-election was brave to say the least.

And sure enough, Labour lost. And even though the margin was only 365 votes, it was a massive defeat. Gordon Brown’s grasp on No. 10 now looks at its absolute weakest, and with the Conservatives calling for an election and his own party looking toward a new leader, it seems but a matter of time before he goes.

You have to feel a bit sorry for Margaret Curran, Labour’s Glasgow East candidate. She has been utterly shafted. Even with the SNP requiring a 22% swing to win, she was always up against it with Gordon Brown being Enemy #1 at the moment. And then the killer blow – a tougher time for benefit claimants.

It’d be a great shame if the scheme, revealed by Work and Pensions Secretary James Purnell on Monday 21st July, ends up to be the final nail in Brown’s coffin. Because it’s actually very good. Despite The Daily Telegraph’s report opening with a wonderful sentence as contradictory as it was polemic – "the unemployed will be forced to do voluntary work" – the plans deserve to be lauded for their attempt to a) expose benefit cheats and b) get the unemployed working again.

And it’s not as if they are being reduced to slave labour the moment they hit the dole queue either. Anyone claiming unemployment benefit for more than a year will have to do four weeks of unpaid work. That’s hardly unreasonable. In fact, it’s only right for those happy to live a life on benefits. That should never be an option while you can still work, and Purnell’s plan – which will see those claiming for two years having to work full-time – looks like it may help to bring a stop to it. It will also force drug addicts to seek treatment if they wish to secure benefits, which is more good news.

So all in all, it’s a fantastic development. Shame it’s probably just killed Gordon Brown’s career.

His speech to Berlin on Thursday July 24th set in stone the world’s love affair with Barack Obama. The Berlin crowd helped his rock star image. "O-BA-MA," they chanted, "O-BA-MA." "Thank you," he repeatedly shouted back, seemingly trying to shut them up so he could get on with it.

Part apology for his country’s misdeeds,

part European history lesson and mostly promise of a better future, the 30-minute speech acknowledged the continental drift between America and Europe caused by ever-growing mistrust and resolved to unite the two once more in healing the wounds of the Bush administration. It was one hell of a speech.

But will it be enough? Not to cure the world’s ills – Obama’s not God, despite what sections of the media suggest – but for him to get the chance to try by winning the US presidential election first?

Ah yes, the election. In our Obamania, we seem to have forgotten about the formality of the great man becoming President first. John McCain hasn’t. He’s been questioning the media’s stance and, like German Chancellor Angela Merkel, the appropriateness of Obama delivering a speech in Berlin. McCain said he too would love to speak to Berliners, but "as president... rather than as a candidate". And maybe he has a point.

The concern for Obama, despite the enormous success of the speech, is whether he is targeting the right audience. He may be preaching to the converted. It is absolutely admirable that he should put aside campaigning to address Europe, in his own words, "as a citizen" (he made practically no reference to the leadership race), but he risks alienating voters back in the US. America votes, not Europe, and having done the job in the latter, Obama needs to keep his eyes on the prize. In short: he should get selfish, at least until – if – he wins the election.

If Obama wants to win America, he should remember: you’ve got to be in it to win it.

Motor racing chief Max Mosley, the man with probably the most publicised sexual fetishes in the world, won his case against the News of the World, after the paper alleged he was involved in a "Nazi-style orgy" with five prostitutes.

The judge, Mr Justice Eady, announced that the press had no right to publish private matters not constituting a serious crime. Implications for freedom of press aren’t good, with many proclaiming the death of 'kiss and tell' stories or even investigations into public figures’ private lives altogether.

Personally, I’m in favour of the press publishing whatever it likes as long as it isn’t dangerous in any way. That is, literally dangerous. For example, The Drudge Report’s irresponsible (but highly valued) exposure of Prince Harry serving in Afghanistan, which risked soldiers’ lives by drawing attention to one very famous comrade, or The Daily Express, the self-proclaimed “World’s Greatest Newspaper”, revealing the secret whereabouts of Mark Thatcher, a man with a bounty on his head. I don’t agree with the concept of a scoop at any cost, if that cost is life. Clearly I’m going to be a crap journalist, but them’s my Principles, which I have been made to understand are more than a high street fashion chain.

But the revelation of Mosley’s orgy was not dangerous. Embarrassing, perhaps – does it really save face to demand privacy in a high-profile court case, rather than just try to keep quiet about the whole sorry mess? – but not dangerous. Frankly, it saddens me that anyone should care about ‘stories’ like this, but while they do the media should be allowed to give them what they want.

Do we have a right to know about the private lives of public figures? Maybe. Maybe not. But Justice Eady’s example of supposedly transgressive journalism – "Would it justify installing a camera in someone’s home in order to catch him or her smoking a spliff? Surely not" – was a poorly chosen one for, as The Daily Telegraph pointed out annoyingly before I had the chance, what if that person was a politician leading a vehement anti-drugs campaign? Then the public should know.

As much as I hate ‘kiss and tell’ stories myself, people seem to want to know about what public figures get up to, and in some cases, they need to. Perhaps in Mosley’s case they didn’t, but Justice Eady may have just thrown the baby out with the bathwater.

There was some worrying news from Spain’s Summercase festival, as Bloc Party frontman Kele Okereke claimed he was the subject of an unprovoked racist attack from ex-Sex Pistols leader and legend in his own lunchtime, John Lydon, a.k.a. Johnny Rotten, a.k.a. talentless arsehole who has been living off one album for 30 years.

I’m not one to take sides without knowing the full story, but quotes from those involved present some interesting contradictions. Somehow Okereke’s story seems more likely. Lydon’s protestations of innocence ("I feel very sorry for a man that needs to lie about what was a perfect evening") paint a scene out of a Famous Five book, while Okereke insists it was more of an Enid Blyton golliwog incident. Okereke claims Lydon and his entourage ranted about his "black attitude" and started a fight also involving members of Foals and the Kaiser Chiefs (the most interesting thing they’ve done to date) that resulted in some nasty bruises for the Bloc Party singer.

If his interviews are anything to go by, Okereke certainly has an attitude, and arguably quite a bad one. But "a black attitude"? What is that, exactly? Lydon’s denied saying it, obviously, but dropped himself in it a bit by adding that Okereke should "Grow up and learn to be a true man", concluding, "When you have achieved as much as I have, come back and talk to me." The first of those statements implies that there was a fight and Lydon is accusing Okereke of running to mummy, while the latter is just embarrassing.

Hmm. Suspicious.

Finally, I was a bit disturbed to hear that 117 pupils walked out of a school in Basingstoke in protest at plans to extend their school day.

My original shock was at the idea of schoolchildren going on strike, but then I thought of their grievance over losing leisure time and softened a bit. Nobody wants to spend all day in a dusty classroom. Then – I really should form opinions after reading a whole article instead of each sentence – then I read that the 20-minute extension was actually going to be to their lunch break. Finally, I found out that under the new practice they would end the school day at 3.05pm, and that they’re currently going home at 2.45.

Any sympathy I had for these kids is now long gone. How bloody pathetic. 2.45? Do they not realise how lucky they are? That’s practically lunchtime. And the extra 20 minutes wouldn’t be to lesson time anyway. What an absolutely stupid, stupid protest. These kids have been watching too much TV, with news programmes showing stories of strikes here, there and everywhere. I blame the parents.

At last, then, it seems safe to confirm the death of Michael Jackson at the age of 50. Now the mania is over, we can take a look at the development of the story and how different parts of the media reacted to what were at the time mere allegations.

Sorry, that sounds incredibly boring. I'll keep it simple, then, and I'll keep it brief. Still, if you're expecting Jacko-related jokes ("His heart couldn't beat it any more" etc.), then you're better off trying somewhere else: I was bored of them after minutes, and we've still months of them to come. Joy.

News of MJ's passing first came from TMZ, a celebrity gossip site following a tip-off that paramedics had visited the singer's home. All that was known at that point was that he had gone into cardiac arrest (not the same as a heart attack, by the way), so the entertainment website responsibly responded by telling the whole world HE'S DEAD, HE'S DEAD OH MY GOD HE'S DEAD.

Sky News followed. Of course it bloody did: Sky News' long-standing motto, which it makes no attempt to deny, is 'never wrong for long'.

Which is why I didn't trust it.

Myself, I was waiting for confirmation from BBC News - a predictable but much more reliable outlet - who steadfastly led with nothing more hyperbolic than 'Michael Jackson taken to hospital'. For this, they deserve praise, which should also be lavished upon them for keeping constant coverage, including my hero and one-time pee buddy (don't ask) Lizo Mzimba. BBC Online's headline then graduated onto calling him 'gravely ill' and then the admittedly ill-advised 'Michael Jackson 'dead'' - ill-advised because 'these' just make it sound 'sarcastic' - before finally confirming the story some hours after it first broke.

So given that the story of Jackson's death was true, was the BBC just slow, perhaps even irresponsibly slow, to report it? No. It was waiting for reliable confirmation from official sources, not an entertainment website. As it should do. Take a note, Sky News.

Anyway, once TMZ had broken the 'story' (understand, BBC? 'These' mean 'sarcasm'), it was within minutes all over the internet, as people such as myself sought to learn the truth of the news from more people like myself. That is, people didn't know whether Jackson was alive or dead, so had to ask other people who didn't know either. This led to a hive of activity, soon becoming a hive of inactivity as the internet buckled under the weight of worldwide confusion. Briefly, Google died, Twitter died and even TMZ, who started the whole thing, died. Nice work bringing that on yourself, guys.

Will the interwebs be able to withstand another assault on their blogotubes? I don't think we'll ever know.

I can't think of many stories that would have such an effect worldwide - people talk about the death of the Queen and the like causing a global stir, but due to the decline in the British Empire and the release of best-selling album ever Thriller, she hasn't touched as many people in as many countries as Michael Jackson. Think of that what you will.

But it does show that social networking sites are now the best news aggregators you can hope for. Find a story, pass it on. Admittedly you have to wade through the shit (OMG HES DED!!!!!!!!!!!!!11), but Twitter, with its #hashtags and trending topics, is actually quite a good news source.

Anyway, now it's all over and his death has been confirmed, what have we learned? Well... nothing, really. The story was right. So TMZ and Sky News were right. Damn. I was hoping this would be a chance for people to realise they can't be trusted.

And Jackson's death itself? Well, with debt, illness and 50 concert dates he was never realistically going to make, the conspiracy theories are flying around almost as quickly as the jokes. But it's my firm belief that he's dead, and we should accept that. Sorry, kids.

Perhaps not.

Roll up, roll up, everything must go, etc. It's the sale of the century and you're all invited to take home a West Ham player of your very own.

I've not held back before in saying that Messrs Gold and Sullivan, owners of West Ham United football club, should keep their noses out of the direct running of the team, including transfers and contracts, and concentrate on keeping the club solvent and wearing purple velvet suits (they really, really do).

I won't hold back now either: they still need to shut up. The Cockney double act's most recent announcement is that, despite surviving the drop and the exodus of players that naturally follows, they will still readily sell any player except midfield talisman Scott Parker.

And the same debt-ridden club has bid £4m for Graham Dorrans of newly-promoted West Brom. O... K.

That's Gold; where's Sullivan?

I could go on again about their clumsy announcements, or the folly in keeping Scott Parker but allowing three England internationals to go, but what I find more interesting here is which clubs could benefit from this West Ham summer sale. My surmisings follow.

Clearly these are not all very likely, and I'd be very surprised if a dozen players leave Upton Park anyway, but certainly some big Premier League names should think about dusting down their chequebooks.

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ROBERT GREEN TO ARSENAL

Perfect opportunity for Wenger, this.

If the Gunners are as cash-strapped as their fans repeatedly profess them to be, they'll need to think small for that much-needed 'keeper (oh, come on, you know Almunia and Fabianski are utter balls).

Green would be a superb signing. Always involved in England's pass-the-parcel approach to the no1 jersey, the 30-year-old has an excellent pair of hands, a decent Premier League pedigree and is more reliable than most England 'keepers (*cough* JamesRobinsonCarson *cough*).

There's longevity to be had too: he may be into his fourth decade now, but 'keepers hang around forever so another shotstopper wouldn't be required for some time.

(Annoyingly, the Metro has now noted this potential move, but I thought of it first, damn it.)

Alternatively: FULHAM. Mark Schwarzer is a top, top 'keeper but he's 37 now and his understudy, Pascal Zuberbuhler, is 39. The Cottagers would love someone a little more, uh, evergreen (sorry).

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CARLTON COLE TO LIVERPOOL

Bear with me here.

I know what you're thinking:

"Really, that carthorse to a Big Four (snigger) club? What are you smoking, where can I get it and does it come with its own 'Amsterdam or Bust' lighter?"

But let's not forget that Carlton Cole, while not the most fashionable of footballers, is a top-quality striker and not far from Fabio Capello's thoughts. I'm a big fan of the ex-Chelsea man, and God knows Liverpool could do with him in their squad.

First up, he's a strong lad who holds the ball up well - the perfect support for Fernando 'Why am I still here?' Torres.

Secondly, even at 26 he has the top-flight experience to counter many of the Reds' younger players' collective lack of nouse.

Thirdly, he can score goals. Without Torres and Gerrard, Liverpool don't find the net easy to... well, find.

Fourthly, he'd be available for under £10 mill, and when you bear in mind Liverpool are apparently without much in the way of transfer funds (something I attribute to spending £35m on Johnson and Aquilani), he'd be a bargain buy.

Lastly, and most importantly, he's better than David bloomin' Ngog.

Alternatively: ASTON VILLA. Because Cole does the same thing Heskey does but he's capable of scoring goals - and Villa's tally this season is some 18 lower than Top Four rivals Manchester City.

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DANNY GABBIDON TO WIGAN

There's no two ways about it: Wigan need to perform better next season or they're getting relegated.

Magical victories over Chelsea, Liverpool and most recently a self-destructing Arsenal can't, and doesn't, take the edge off the fact that the Latics have been poor.

And the first thing to look at there is their defence. Losing 9-1 to Spurs, 4-0 to relegation battlers Portsmouth and Bolton (not to mention 4-1 to Championship side Blackpool in the Carling Cup) and 5-0 to Manchester United TWICE happens for a reason.

Gabbidon might not be of the same calibre of Matthew Upson, at least in terms of media coverage, but he is a sound defender and would be available on the cheap.

Alternatively: BOLTON (see below).

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MATTHEW UPSON TO BOLTON

Shit team, shit defence.

Many will say Upson could go to a bigger club - Arsenal are rumoured - but having survived this season, Owen Coyle will be looking to take Bolton to mid-table next season. An Upson-Cahill centre-back pairing would be a great foundation - all they'd need then is, y'know, a striker.

Also, whisper it quietly, but I don't think Matthew Upson is very good. A bigger club could do much better.

Alternatively: ARSENAL, apparently. Wouldn't mind playing against a team with Sol Campbell and Upson as centre-backs.

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JULIEN FAUBERT TO WOLVES

Faubert has been good this year, and as a former Real Madrid player (seriously, how did that happen?) he'll be ambitious at staying in the Premier League.

Wolves are currently playing Ronald Zubar at right-back.

That is all.

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JONATHAN SPECTOR TO NOTTINGHAM FOREST

Moving into the newcomers, Forest are favourites to win the Championship play-offs and if they do so, they'll want to add to that infamously small squad. Spector, who can play in any position across the back line and in midfield (he used to play up front too) would add useful versatility.

So would Kieran Dyer, but... well...

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BENNI McCARTHY TO SWANSEA

Oh, shut up. It's not inconceivable that Swansea could be in the Premiership next year, and given that their scoring rate - 40 goals in 45 games - is akin to that of a dying leper in a disco, they'd love a striker with some top-flight experience. McCarthy could give them just that for a season or two.

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LUIS BOA MORTE TO NEWCASTLE

Slightly clutching at straws now.

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MIDO TO MANCHESTER UNITED

OK, I give up.

Hello? What's this? I have a blog?

Yes, I've been very rubbish over the last couple of months, and due to various issues of job applications, illness and Media Law exams, I've abandoned this little corner of the interblag universe. Believe me, I'm as upset with myself as you are, and if you're even half as relieved as I am to be back, then I'm twice as relieved as you.

Anyway, Huw Davies' Week Spot is back after a horrible hiatus, and I promise you a real blog on the news of the day as soon as possible - most likely in the next couple of days. Tell your friends.

Ta ta for now.

Today is my birthday, which means two things for this blog: it'll be shorter and less cynical than usual. Gone are the diatribes of Homeric proportions on the horrible financial state we're all in and gone are the complaints about how bad parts of the national press are (though they are). No, for this week, I am going to bright, breezy and brief.

Which means, yes, there may be some silliness. Sorry.

To that end, I have just opened one of my birthday presents, which is a collection of crap jokes. So, in the spirit of silliness: where was the Declaration of Independence signed? At the bottom. Boom boom.

No, I don't know what happened to this blog either.

D-I-V-O-R-C-E
Dollocaust
Is Manchester United the ugliest football team in the world?

So clearly the biggest news this week is the impending divorce between 75-year-old lingerie model and Joan Rivers impressionist Madonna and her lovable cockney geezer of a husband, Guy 'cor blimey guvnor' Ritchie. Apparently this split has been a long time coming. Apparently bears defecate in heavily wooded areas.

It's interesting that the announcement supposedly came earlier than planned: the couple had wanted to keep up appearances until the end of Madonna's new tour (I imagine this was her idea, not Guy's). Maybe it's just me believing too much of the little celebrity gossip I read, but I was under the impression that everyone knew they've been growing apart over the last few years, so they can't have done brilliantly in the 'keeping up appearances' part of things. Still, waiting until the end of your tour to announce your divorce? Isn't that a little cynical? Call me naïve, but even the end of a marriage should have its priorities, rather than being "highly stage-managed", "announced when it [is] convenient" for one of the two people involved. Madonna "didn't want the distraction while she is trying to concentrate on her tour," The Sun reveals. With a thought process like that, how has she has the nerve to question Ritchie's emotional capabilities?

With this in mind, I also find it very interesting that the announcement came from Madonna and not the couple, as usually happens. Even soon-to-be-divorcees usually manage to be in the same room as each other for one more press conference, for old time's sake, perhaps. But, although Ritchie's representative co-signed the statement, the news was revealed by Madonna's cohort. Maybe it was seen as her responsibility as the more famous party, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's quite happy to take the reins with the press on this one.

She has, after all, been more vocal about the divorce than Ritchie. The other night at a concert in Boston – her first after announcing the divorce – Madonna gave Ritchie lock, stock and two smoking barrels, introducing the song Miles Away with the words, "This song is for the emotionally retarded. Maybe you know some people who fall into that category. I know I do." She then powered through her set like a true rock 'n' rolla, although it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to notice that in those clothes you can very clearly see her snatch.

Apologies for the appalling punnery and quite crude (but accurate) observation that for the millions of dollars she spends on her stage show, Madonna still dresses like a cheap whore. We shouldn't be too surprised by this sort of behaviour from someone who has released singles called Bad Girl, Hanky Panky and the less-than-subtle Erotica in the past, but she's 50 now. Apart from anything else, she could at least start saving some money for retirement. Allegedly her new tour, called 'Sticky and Sweet' – the woman has no shame – involves £1 million of jewellery, 3,500 individual wardrobe elements, 100 pairs of fishnet stockings and 69 guitars. Strangely, it's the last of these statistics that concerns me. Even The Clash, at the height of their instrument-smashing mayhem, didn't get through that many.

Anyway, back to the divorce, just briefly. One final piece of interest, for me at least, is Guy and Ritchie bringing out the old privacy chestnut, requesting that the media "maintain respect for their family at this difficult time."

Optimistic, I feel.

A line of Fisher Price dolls has been withdrawn from sale at a number of toy stores in America after parents complained they were spouting such questionable messages as "Satan is king" and "Islam is the light".

Americans? Paranoid? Nah.

I'm pretty sure this could only happen in the Bible Belt of America (in this case, Oklahoma). Not only is it a hotbed for insane Christians hitting pro-choicers with bricks, it's a hotbed for insane Christians insisting that everyone in the world apart from them is a heathen/Islamic fundamentalist/the Devil/all three. Add a dash of 9/11, a whiff of Jerry Springer: The Opera and a soupcon of 'Holy shit, there's a black man running for President' and you get full-scale terror.

Listen to the clip attached at the top of this link and tell me that gurgling, babbling baby doll is saying "Islam is the light". It's not. If anything, it's saying "Me ears are alight" in an obscure reference to a Maxell advert. Equally weird, but probably less terrifying to Americans. Still, I expect somewhere in the Palestinian Bible Belt – the Qur'an Colony? – there are families complaining that an evil Western doll is saying, "Ooh ooh, the Israelites."

Or maybe they're more understanding than crazy American bible-bashers.

It's been discussed before, this, but watching their match against West Brom made me realise once more that United's players are uglier than Route 1.

This is a team that has produced and since released such Elephant Man cast-offs as Luke Chadwick and Phil Neville, and yet they still keep up an impressive ugly quotient. Maybe it's part of Cristiano Ronaldo's contract. Maybe it's an obscure EU law. Whatever the reason, it's slightly eerie. If you don't believe me, look for yourself at this full XI of hideous United players (in a 4-3-3 formation, notice). To be fair to them, a lot of these pictures have been taken with the players at the very height of gormlessness, but I don't care – they're funny.

I must apologise for some naughty words appearing in this post. Such are the dangers of talking about professional football. Rest assured, though, that it's not me providing the swearing – it's the managers. Irresponsible bastards.

The blog's also a bit truncated – i.e. short – this week. After a hefty analysis of the first Obama vs. McCain debate last week, I thought it might be best for me to give American politics a rest this time round, even with the Palin/Biden showdown having taken place this week. So this is more lightweight, in focus and pounds of virtual paper.

Finally, you may have noticed a new section to the blog, available on the wall to the top-right of the page, as promised in my last post. There's nothing on it yet, but it'll happen, and it'll be about online journalism (well, I find it interesting). You may choose to ignore it or you may choose to read it. Obviously I'd prefer it if you did read it but just so you know: it won't be my opinions on the week that passed, as this is. It's not really affiliated with Huw Davies' Week Spot. Well, it is, because it's me writing it. But it's not the same blog. It's not the same sphere. It's not the same Huw Davies.

It's blogging, Jim, but not as we know it.

And now: normal service resumes.

Chancer of the Exchequer
Churchill vs. The Daleks
FuKinnear

The BBC reports that Alistair Darling, Chancellor of the Exchequer, has said he is willing to take "some pretty big steps" to stabilise British banking and the economy.

GOOD.

I'm not saying he should, necessarily, because I don't understand economics enough to suggest whether interference would be appropriate or not, and whether taking steps would be better than waiting it out. But I'm certainly glad to hear he is willing to take pretty big steps. You'd hope so. Otherwise, what is the point in government?

He also said he was looking at "a range of proposals". That is not convincing. Apart from the fact that every politician in the history of the world ever has said that exact sentence – or at least, none that I know of has said, "We are not looking at a range of proposals" – it's disconcerting to hear it from the Chancellor of the Exchequer because it doesn't tell us anything.

It is not news. Or rather, it shouldn't be. I'd hope that we are confident enough in our government to know they would take the steps necessary to bring this country out of a hole. We should be. We shouldn't, however, have to be reassured they would.

The fact is that people want something more concrete than that. Back in the day it was good enough to hear "Hey everybody, it's gonna be OK" when the economy was hitting the fan, but now, when people are completely, horribly terrified of losing their money, they want to know the Government has a plan – not that it will find one, but that it has one. Until then, words are not enough. And, as Obama and McCain's failure to immediately convince the majority about their plans for the economy proved (sorry, that's the last I say about America), people are happy – well, not happy, but prepared – to learn a bit more about financial politics than they previously were. That's the level of trust we have in our politicians now. And given that Darling thinks we can still be placated by vague promises, it's justified and probably necessary.

Sad, innit?

It was Magazine Week all last week (or this week, if anyone reads this as soon as I post it), and to celebrate, Borders booksellers offered a buy-one-get-one-half-price deal on magazines and magazine subscriptions. Huzzah! Reason at last for me to buy The Oldie without feeling I should spend the money on pretending to be young.

There was also a poll, sponsored by the Periodical Publishers Association (PPA), to find Britain's favourite magazine cover. I know what you're thinking: what kind of sad bastard remembers their favourite front cover to a magazine? So to help us all out, a team of industry experts nominated some and whittled them down to a 'best of the best' shortlist of 16. Here they all are.

As those of you who have just looked at that link know, the Radio Times Dalek cover won. I'm not disappointed as such; more indifferent. I mean, it's an all right cover, I suppose. I'm not overwhelmed, but I'm not underwhelmed either. I'm 'whelmed'. It's a striking image to put on a front cover, but the 'Vote Dalek' slogan doesn't actually make any sense – it's just a very tenuous tie-in to the General Election that was happening at the time (if anything, it probably gained some votes from people taking the slogan as an order). So it's not all that clever, or clever at all in fact. Still, it doesn't need to be, and that's why it won. It's simple and it grabs your attention – and that's the point. Still, it'd be a downright lie to deny that a lot of those votes were members of the public thinking, "Ooh, Daleks!"

I honestly thought the NME's Beth Ditto cover would win, but I just as honestly hoped that Time Out would. It takes some balls to stick it to Winston Churchill – look how badly Hitler fared – but to do it on the anniversary of his death in the midst of some serious Churchillmania is about the bravest thing you can do as the editor of a magazine. Not only that but it's an amazing, attention-grabbing front cover; not to mention beautifully ironic in using Churchill's own 'V' sign as a 'fuck you' to the man himself.

It's a shame that Time Out is purely just a 'What's On' read now because we need some more political ferocity in our magazines, but maybe a guide to London isn't the best vessel for that. Still, we need something – before we all start voting Dalek.

I'm sure you've all heard by now about Joe Kinnear's verbal tirade against certain members of the media in his first official press conference as Newcastle manager. If not, here it is in its full glory. I love The Guardian for printing this, but in all honesty it's hard not to when, as a journalist, you hear, "Write what you like. Makes no difference to me."

Choosing the best bit of this fantastic rant – please read all of it – is hard, but my personal favourites are the start –

"Which one is Simon Bird?"

"Me."

"You're a cunt."

- and the end:

"Enjoyed getting back in the swing of things?"

"Absolutely. I've loved every moment of it."

I actually don't have much to say about Kinnear's outburst except that I would love it to happen in football more often – love it. It's great to see a football manager wearing his heart on his sleeve and holding his career with invisible tongs. And it's not as if it was a one-off: brilliantly, Kinnear had to watch his first game in charge of Newcastle from the stands because he never finished serving a touchline ban at Nottingham Forest four years ago.

He was, of course, wrong to have such a go at the press. They reported the truth: that he had taken a day off from training on his first day of work, and they merely cast aspersions to tensions at the club – which, when you're in the relegation zone with allegedly one of the strongest squads in the country (uh... ), is likely to be the case. And as manager, however temporarily, of a team in difficulties, Kinnear should be trying to calm the waters, not rock the boat.

But I can't judge someone who provides me with that much entertainment. And thanks to Everton's wavering concentration before and after the half-time break, Newcastle grabbed a 2-2 draw today. Maybe there's life in the old Toon yet.

Perhaps not for Spurs though.

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.)

So, then, The Observer. National institution or financial dead duck? Ongoing liberal tradition or failing piece of press history? Last hope for decent Sunday newspapers or... well, you get the picture.

The problem is that many people don't. The news - or more appropriately, rumours - that Guardian-owned Sunday staple The Observer may be set to close has been greeted by cries of indignant outrage from the left and centre and cries of ugly derision from the right (i.e. almost every other newspaper).

No surprise there, perhaps, and it's good to see people coming out in force to condemn the proposed closure, oppose the Guardian Media Group's pessimistic murmurings and in some cases, call the whole thing a fascist coup. I'm one of them. I've joined a Facebook group and everything. AND I'm following 'savetheobserver' on Twitter. GMG, feel my web 2.0 wrath.

However, I feel the need to tar the rose-tinted Observer portrait with the brush of realism and bad metaphors. There's no smoke without fire, and in this case the fire is coming from an almost ritualistic burning of money from people bowing to a false idol of unerring tradition.

The Observer has not turned a profit in 16 years, ever since the Guardian bought it in 1993. Let's think about that. No profit in 16 years. And it's thought to have lost £10-£20 million every year in recent times. The Telegraph's business section has some more depressing statistics, although I must add that I don't condone the irrelevant comparison of the newspaper's losses with Guardian editor Alan Rusbridger's salary increase.

On Newsnight a former editor of The Observer, Donald Trelford, said the Sunday newspaper is being made scapegoat for The Guardian's losses. I don't agree. Once again, it hasn't made a profit in 16 years, and it's allegedly losing a million pounds a month.

Now I'm not a Godforsaken pennypincher, and I believe in political ideals ahead of profitable business, but can the GMG really afford for this to continue, and now of all times?

It's time, as ever, for a disclaimer.

I am a Guardian reader and an Observer reader. I detest almost every other newspaper from the Sun to the Mail - especially the Mail - for being irresponsible, reactionary and just a little bit racist. You may have noticed that my news links above took you to a story in the Times and the Torygraph, but only because, in spite of everything, they are at least trustworthy newspapers for getting their facts right. I just don't agree with anything they say, that's all.

So when I say we have to be realistic about The Observer, that doesn't mean I want it to die. I simply recognise that there may be no alternative.

But could it find some other way of saving money? Both The Guardian and The Observer have more staff each than the Chinese when they were building their Great Wall. If you were to walk past everyone who worked for these papers, you'd never reach the last one. There's just too many of them. The wage bill must be absolutely epic.

I don't want people working for The Big G or The Big O(we) to lose their jobs, though, partly because I know some of them. So could The Observer be smaller? It's a weekly so it's huge, naturally, but it could probably halve its page count before it had to halve its staff (uh, the number of staff, that is - I'm not suggesting it literally cuts its staff in half, despite the pleasant rhyming).

But if none of these cost-cutting measures are possible, what should the GMG do?

Shoot me for saying this but in times of dire need for a balanced world view, The Guardian must take precedence over The Observer.

The Tories are almost certain to win the next General Election (God help the delusioned sinners that vote for them), and we need The Guardian at its strongest to repel every right-wing newspaper out there. It's the guardian of liberal thinking and good journalism; it is not guardian of The Observer. And it can't afford to keep losing money.

Yes, I'm a bastard. But I do recognise The Observer's proud reputation and prouder history, which is why I think the proposal for it to become a midweek magazine is almost insulting. THAT would be the death of it. It's a 200-year-old newspaper, for goodness' sake. When World War One veterans are on their deathbed, do you cake them in gaudy make-up and call them Ruby? No. You let them die with dignity. I'd rather see The Observer close than see it become a midweek mag.

But just to make things clear, I don't want The Observer to close. If alternatives are lacking, however, we can't let blind brand loyalty get in the way of responsibility. Because if The Observer continues to print and continues to lose money, it could just bring The Guardian down with it.

And we really don't want that.