Run with Eric [Search results for War] 

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.

Phantom Power - Super Furry Animals [2003]

Well, for the millions of you reading this, I'm sure my #11 will be something of an anticlimax after this. What a story. I feel overshadowed.

Phantom Power is a wonderful record from start to finish. For a 10-song concept album in which every song used D-A-D-D-A-D tuning - surely the worst idea for a concept album ever - to be turned into a 14-song masterpiece virtually flawless in its creation and implementation is quite something.

In a way, it represents the Furries taking many new steps. For one, it's the last time they ever really made any dent on the charts, effectively cutting off quite a lot of MOR listeners to their sound. I'm sure Gruff Rhys and his merry mentalists couldn't care less, but a fall in mainstream success often spells a change in a band's approach.

This time, the band allowed themselves to be much more technical about the album's production (reflected in its title, a reference to a tool often seen on mixing desks). They engineered the album themselves and had endless discussions about things I won't pretend to understand. Gone, it seems, were the days of making poorly-produced shoutfest B-sides just for the fun of it.

They did get to play with guns though.

Yet the band are right in calling the album "a little more human" than its predecessor Rings Around The World. There's a sentimental warmth to songs such as Sex, War & Robots, and not just because of its pedal steel guitar. "If tears could kill, I'd be a long time gone," croons Huw Bunford over a languid melody.

Yes, Huw Bunford. Bunf. It's the first time a song of the guitarist's had made a Furries studio album, but more noticeable is his vocals being used instead of Rhys'. It was the catalyst for everyone having a go on Love Kraft, with each band member bar Guto Pryce - he's shy, bless him - taking the lead at one stage. Again, a new sound, and one that works really well, on Phantom Power at least (Love Kraft's not all that).

But to my mind, though this album shows a band at their stage-sharing democratic best, it's brothers Dafydd Ieuan and Cian Ciaran's record. Daf is given a huge amount more freedom with his drumming, from the heraldic announcements of the gorgeous Father Father instrumentals to the frantic drum solo outro of Valet Parking.

Cian, meanwhile, is the man behind Slow Life, one of the greatest offerings of the Furries' career - a seven-minute semi-improvised experiment (the rest of the band just jammed over the top of his pre-prepared mix) that weaves seamlessly between techno and folk-rock then mashing the two together. What a finale.

I should probably write more about the songs themselves, but I doubt I'd do them justice. Suffice it to say the album is eclectic as the Furries ever are, but with an often gentler, more countrified sound. True, Out Of Control and Golden Retriever are steeped in '70s rock 'n' roll and I don't even know what The Undefeated is, but the general atmosphere is laid back to the point of falling over, and in a damn good way.

Lyrically, it's, uh, diverse. The band claims Phantom Power is about broken relationships and war, and I suppose that's partly true. But it doesn't do justice to the sheer number of subjects tackled, nor the intense amount of feeling they manage to generate on topics such as the Falklands War (The Piccolo Snare, an incredible track with some of the most beautiful close harmonising you'll ever hear) and the Chernobyl disaster's effect on North Wales (Bleed Forever).

Oh yeah, and a song about a dog. With Golden Retriever and outpourings from the soul about pan-European road travel and pet tortoises called Venus and Serena, it's good to see the Furries didn't lose their sense of fun with this one.

Even against the brilliance of Radiator and Rings Around The World, Phantom Power could just be the Super Furry Animals' best album. And if that's not enough, it's certainly one of the best albums released this decade. SFA OK.

(Wow, I managed to make a spectacular album really boring. Just listen to it.)

Spotify link.

This is just a brief respite from my enforced silence to highlight this story and the reporting of it.

First up, The Sun has reacted with typical understanding and calm, making a towering mountain out of the smallest of molehills by highlighting every alleged error. And yes, I do mean alleged. Bad handwriting is not a crime, and frankly I - yes, even I - can excuse a couple of spelling mistakes from a man with a lot on his mind.

It's another example of The Sun's, and most other tabloids', confused politics of war. They want to beat the big nasty terrorists, but they want Our Brave Boyz out of Iraq. They complain about soldiers having substandard equipment, but complain about military overspending (or at least tax, which falls easily under their 'Gordon Brown Iz Rubbish Innit' banner). And they want Brown to do everything at once, but take time out of his schedule to write a perfectly-constructed letter in iambic pentameter to grieving parents with a chip on their shoulder about the war even happening in the first place.

Secondly, both The Sun and the BBC included an addendum along the lines of, "Mr Brown has previously admitted problems with his eyesight." Because naturally THAT'S relevant.

Thirdly, all hail Number 10 spokespeople for yet another idiotic press statement - one of my favourite yet - which runs: "[Gordon Brown] would never knowingly misspell anyone's name." Brilliant. It's good to know that even in times of stress, our Prime Minister doesn't say to himself, "That David Cameron really pisses me off. I know what I'll do. I'll write him a letter addressed to 'Mr Camron'. That'll really get him."

Lastly, the woman complaining about the letter in the first place has found completely the wrong outlet for her grief, and shouldn't have been given the publicity (and certainly not with the grim picture The Sun arranged of her holding her son's photograph - it just reminds me of this brilliant website).

I just wish the reporters had included all of the spelling mistakes I am absolutely sure she committed in her own letter. Muphry's Law is an absolute gem.

British politics has been very interesting this week. Even with a Cold War possibly starting thanks to the antics of Russia and Georgia, there's plenty happening at home to get the political pulse racing, or at least beating.

You may be wondering why I am steadfastly not writing about the Russia/Georgia situation, and the simple reason is that I don't know enough about the situation to comment without revealing my ignorance (please, no "that's never stopped you before" comments). Even after analysing the situation my conclusions are along the lines of "Naughty Ruskis" and "Silly Georgians", and that's the kind of political comment that helps nobody (Simon Heffer, take note).

But what I do have on offer for you is a hat-trick of opinions on British political stories this week, with some American election-spotting on the side for good measure.

Never say I don't spoil you.

Tories vs. Fatties
Let's talk about sex, baby
History lessons go back to black
The female of the species
Every little helps

Put down the pie, fatty, and listen up. If you are overweight or obese, you have nobody to blame but yourself. Not Bernard Matthews, not Colonel Sanders – it's YOUR fault you break the scales. Yours. Now get out of my sight and make a salad, chubbles.

This, as every reporter will tell you, is the gist of the Conservative Party's caring new approach to public health, outlined by the shadow health secretary Andrew Lansley last Wednesday. His speech to the think tank Reform, entitled No Excuses, No Nannying, attacked people’s failure to take responsibility for their self-inflicted health problems, claiming, "Tell people that biology and the environment cause obesity and they are offered the one thing we have to avoid: an excuse." Basically, the Tories are telling the overweight they have only themselves to blame.

What Lansley said is actually a little more complex than that. He unveiled proposals to fight obesity that include role models promoting healthy lifestyles, a clampdown on food advertising and asking the food industry to reduce portion sizes. Blimey, hold on to your seat – them's some radical ideas.

Not so much an unveiling as a shy reminder, then. The Tories haven't suggested anything new here, and it's not hard to see why the Government's health secretary Alan Johnson condemned them, saying, "Andrew Lansley is proposing to do nothing that isn't being done already and saying nothing that hasn't been said before." Still, the LibDems probably got carried away in saying the Tories just want to blame people for their obesity because they haven't got any ideas on how to tackle it. That's silly talk. Besides, the Tories are right: people should take responsibility for their weight and stop blaming external influences.

It is true that we live in an irresponsible compensation culture where nothing is anybody's fault (except paedophiles, who don't get to defend themselves). "Don't blame me – I'm only a monster because society made me that way." "It's not my fault I had a bad upbringing." "Jesus told me to rob that bank." We are constantly led to believe that we are all guided by social or even astrological forces beyond our control, that if you were born on the wrong side of the tracks then dealing crack to abusive teenage mothers is understandable and therefore permissible, and that anyone who actually blames someone for doing something wrong is a fascist – or in this scenario, a fattist.

Fat people cannot help being fat, we are told. But here’s the thing: most of them can. If there is a genuine medical reason for an individual’s obesity (e.g. glandular problems, physical disability etc.) and they literally have no option but to pile

on the pounds, then it's entirely reasonable to say, "They can't help it." But that's not the general argument; instead, we are made to believe that obesity isn't a lifestyle choice but an unfortunate affliction targeting the weak. There's just so much advertising for junk food, you see. And it tastes so nice. Oh, these poor, poor sufferers of the overeating disease. Does lack of willpower count as a vitamin deficiency?

Forgive me for being aggressive, but obesity is not caused by availability. Just because you can buy a tasty but sickeningly unhealthy burger for a couple of quid doesn’t mean you are contractually obliged to, in the same way that you can buy gallons of cider with loose change but you don’t have to drink it all in one go and become an alcoholic. It is a question of having some self-control. You can be flabby and still have a backbone.

The Tories' plans don't recommend anything new or useful, and should be disregarded for being largely pointless. But at least they don't protect gutless gluttons, who need to take the blame for their mistakes. It may not be easy for chronic overeaters, but at the end of the day, humble pie is still pie.

MPs are appealing to the Government to provide sex education as early as the beginning of primary school, meaning pupils would learn about the birds and the bees from the age of four.

It's easy to strip a complex suggestion down into headline-hitting hysteria – look, I did it just there and I'm not even a national broadsheet newspaper – but this plan is still concerning. The sexualisation of young children is becoming ever-worrying, and teaching them about relationships before they can even spell 'relationships' is a dodgy prospect. How sexual will this sex education be at that age? We don't know. It may just be a case of "Have you noticed how you like Mary in a different way to how you like John?" (or not, as the case may be), but until that is made clear, we have reason to be suspicious. Call me old-fashioned, but a) kids should arguably learn about relationships and sex from their parents or guardians rather than their teachers and b) they should definitely be able to tie their own shoelaces by that time.

Let it be stricken from the record that at the age of 21 I am really bad at tying my shoelaces.

There is also, I feel, insufficient evidence to suggest sex education at such an early will cut down on the unwanted teenage pregnancies that are plaguing Britain and precipitating such reactionary legislation. Hitting the problem early is always a good thing, but I can't see explanations of relationships to an infant preventing him from making a mistake many years later. One fear is that girls are beginning to have periods without knowing properly what to expect, but again, it's very unusual for that bodily change to occur before the age of 9 or 10, say, which would be a reasonable time for sex education to begin.

I just don't think this legislation would solve any problems, and I do believe it might taint the innocence of millions of young children. Colour me sceptical.

But for every absurd educational reform there's a decent one (that's probably not an official statistic), and it's definitely good news that the slave trade and the British empire are to become compulsory subjects in History lessons.

Pupils between the ages of 11 and 14 – meaning pre-GCSE students, forced in nearly all schools to take History for three years – will be taught about the likes of William Wilberforce and Olaudah Equiano and their roles in the abolition of the British slave trade (and to think, they could just watch Amazing Grace or read this blog and follow the Wikipedia links). The fall of the empire will also be dissected and the progression of civil rights for African-Americans most likely thrown into the mix as well.

It's an encouraging development for three reasons. Most obviously and most importantly, it will teach children about a massive part of Britain's history hitherto ignored by school syllabus-makers. Secondly, it shows a willingness to admit and discuss the embarrassing faults of our ancestors, rather than pretending they didn't happen and focusing instead on national triumphs such as Waterloo, the Battle of Britain and the removal of Margaret Thatcher from power. Finally and most thrillingly of all, it will end the domination of Germany, the world wars and the Holocaust over History lesson timetables.

My only concern is the idea that schoolchildren will learn about the slave trade "to help them understand modern-day issues such as immigration." Given the disgusting popularity of people having right-wing leanings these days, I wouldn't be too surprised if 'helping children to understand immigration' means 'helping children to understand that immigrants are all mass-murdering rapists'.

Still, that's just my cynicism kicking into overdrive. It's about time British kids knew the truth about slavery, before they start thinking that Sepp Blatter and Cristiano Ronaldo know what they're talking about.

John McCain may be an idiot, but he knows American politics. He's covered up his own inadequacies by focusing on Obama's supposed inexperience, he's guaranteed himself favourable press coverage by allowing plenty of exposure for most of his career and he

purposefully upset the Democratic hoedown by infiltrating their Denver conference with high-profile Republican speakers. And now, amid claims he's too old and doesn't appeal to the more simple-minded female voters as much as Barack 'Nice Smile' Obama, he has chosen a woman, Sarah Palin, Governor of Alaska, for his running mate and potential Vice-President. Shrewd.

It is, of course, reductive and even insulting to suggest McCain will receive more of the female vote than he would otherwise just by having a female running mate. But that's how it works. A level of 'one of us' affects every voter to an extent – black or white, rich or poor, male or female. Having a Hispanic running mate would secure McCain the Hispanic vote. Having a ginger running mate would secure the ginger vote. And having a female running mate is likely to secure him more of the female vote. Sorry.

Palin may also win McCain the Youth vote (she's 44), the Proud Mothers Unite vote (5 children, one with Down's Syndrome) and the Anti-Abortion vote (5 children, one with Down's Syndrome), although admittedly McCain already had that one sewn up. We also shouldn't underestimate the popular vote from Stupid Men Who Don't Care About Politics But Know A Pretty Face When They See One ('masturbatory voters', as they are known): Palin looks incredible for a woman who's given birth to five children and certainly generates more interest in the pants department than Hillary Clinton.

Palin was not as much of a no-brainer choice as she may seem though. McCain's most stringent and resounding criticism of Barack Obama is that he is inexperienced and not ready to govern America. Unsurprisingly given that he's 72 himself, McCain is playing the experience card very highly. Then he goes and chooses a running mate who has been in office for less than two years. Clearly the idea is to inject some youth and excitement into, well, the Republican party, and diversity and shoring up your own weaknesses is a major part of picking a running mate – hence why Obama chose Joe Biden, a famously experienced politician into his sixth term in the Senate. Picking Sarah Palin is at best a risky move and at worse blatant hypocrisy, but it is, of course, difficult for Obama to pick up on because any attack on her pedigree indirectly leads to doubts over his own.

It is always controversial to 'take the man, not the ball' and focus on a person rather than their politics. It is doubly controversial when that person is a woman, because you are accused of rampant sexism. But in American politics is hard to consider it any other way, because even when you are picking a future Vice-President you are picking personality rather than policy. The running mate is a means to an end; someone to help you to get into the hot seat, not share it with you when you're there. John McCain himself has repeatedly said the vice-presidency amounts to little more than "attending funerals and checking on the health of the President", so we probably shouldn't believe him too readily when he says he wants to work closely with her in the White House. She's his ticket there; not his bedfellow.

And it might just work. Palin will attract some of the disenchanted Hillary supporters from the Democratic camp, who don't need much persuading – many are of the 'Hillary 12' crowd, keen for Obama to lose the election so Mrs Clinton can take over after winning the next one. The idea of wanting your party to lose is, I think, inexplicable, but there you go. Palin's appointment is also helping the Republican party to provide a more united front than the Democrats are doing at the moment, thanks to Clinton & Co (though they have triggered one of the best acronyms in recent political history: Party Unity My Ass).

The sad truth is that John McCain is probably going to win this election. Seeing how he and Sarah Palin cope will be interesting. Personally, I'd have preferred Michael Palin. Now THAT would be a story.

Victory for pedants everywhere.

Oh BBC, when will you learn? After many previous examples of ambiguous and misleading headlines on their news website, you'd think they'd pay a bit more attention to what they're writing. But then the point, I suppose, is to draw readers in, and nothing does that more than suggesting the First Lady of America wants to be in a porn movie.

This time it's global war, and President-elect Barack Obama's new approach to tackling Iran. Yes, approach. Not attack.

The BBC's headline is 'Obama promises new tack on Iran. Now read that at a glance and what does that look like? Yes. 'Obama promises new attack on Iran'. Now that's a very different thing, and personally I think choosing such an easily misread word is a tad irresponsible.

Think on, BBC. Think on.

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.

Howl - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club [2005]

Where the hell did this come from?

After two albums with good singles but on the whole worthy of the description 'not bad', a pretty decent but by no means special rock band suddenly delved deep into their hearts, found their inner blues, which I don't think anyone thought existed in them, and pulled out a bloody stunner of a record. As I said: where the hell did this come from?

The title says it all. Howl is raw to the core. It's a cry of justice, injustice and misery. It's, well, a howl.

I'm born and weary but life's just begun
And I've run from the reasons and roamed to the gun
They say I'm the killer and thy will be done
And the doors won't be open when I finally become
And I've seen the battle and I've seen the war
And the life out here is the life I've been sold

It could be said there's a lack of invested feeling in observant third-person ballads such as Restless Sinner - though I don't agree; it's a brilliant song with wonderful guitar work - but that never hurt Dylan, and if it's personal emotion you want, look no further than Fault Line. With copious amounts of harmonica, that most underrated of instruments, and a refrain of "Racing with the rising tide to my father's door", it's really quite moving.

But it's not all one-paced: Shuffle Your Feet, all handclaps and bottleneck guitar, and Ain't No Easy Way, one of the few indie singles of late to feature an instrumental mouth organ chorus, raise the tempo and are both absolute stompers in their own right. They provide a perfectly judged antidote to the bittersweet laments of the rest of the album's noose-fearing gospel.

It is, quite literally given their previous guitar anthem dreams, an incredible modern blues album.

And yet no one else seems to think so. From the universally acclaimed Since I Left You yesterday to the largely deplored Howl today, it's a bit of a fall. But I don't care.

This is gem of an album. What a shame that as soon as they could, BRMC went back to their old rocky road. But at least we are left with this - Howl.

No Spotify link because Spotify doesn't have this album. It's all on YouTube, though - give it a listen.

Bad news for Team GB: eight sports have had their funding slashed ahead of the 2012 London Olympics.

They're all relatively minor sports, but the cuts are major enough: water polo is losing half of its budget and shooting will be forced to scale down from 46 funded athletes to 10. Several teams, including water polo, may be forced to pull out of the 2012 Olympics, scuppering the Government's plans to field athletes in every... field.

Well, that's not good, is it? Especially after Britain's success in the Beijing Olympics last year. I can see a lot of people being disappointed with this - and not just the athletes. The British public has fallen in love with the idea of hosting the Olympics, and knowing their own country won't be able to compete in some events will be a major blow to morale. Also, the UK was given the Olympics on the basis it would be cheap - much cheaper than Beijing. I don't think withdrawing their own team was the idea they had in mind.

It's easy to say this kind of disappointment is inevitable in a recession, and to an extent it is, but that's not the direct reason for this. No - it's a £50m funding shortfall. Yeah. OK, enough beating around the bush: the Government failed to raise ANY MONEY AT ALL from the private sector. Not a single penny. Nothing. At. All.

So yes, indirectly the economy's general downward spiralling motion is arguably to blame because private companies aren't happy to be chucking about money at the moment, and certainly not into the training of younger athletes, contributing in turn to national success (much better to invest in Iceland, eh?).

But ultimately, the Government itself must take some responsibility for failing to marshal the private sector into investing in Britain's sporting future. I don't know quite what its level of campaigning was, but clearly it wasn't enough.

I know one thing, though:

taxpayers will not be happy. Reading The Metro tomorrow morning on the bus to work, I can see them choking on their Nutri-Grains reading about how private business has let them down once again. "Why should we pay the money if they don't?", they'll ask. I don't think taxes will rise as a result of the funding shortfall - too unpopular, even with the excitement over the Games - but it's not going to help public attitudes towards companies that many see as having helped to land Britain in this economic mess in the first place. Class war, here we come: public vs. private sector. Now that's sport.

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.