I know nothing. You know even less than me. Let's run the country
• War is hell, they say, and working for the Con-Dem government seems just as bad. Certainly the attrition rate seems pretty high. You hear tales of fear and loathing, but what everyone craves is some hard evidence. So thanks indeed to the Institute for Government, with a study of how it's all going with Big Dave and his team. And what we learn is that grappling with the great shrinking of the state is an entire phalanx of ministers, hardly any of which have any experience of running their departments, aided and abetted by permanent secretaries who are greener than they are. "There has been an unprecedented level of churn at the top level," says the institute. "By the first anniversary of the government, of 16 departments, only six will not have had a change of permanent secretary – so ministers, all of whom have under a year's experience in all those departments, will all have someone with less experience at the top." The blind lead the blind. Rebel without a clue.
• Poor Conrad Black, hounded by the courts; he awaits re-sentencing in June after supreme court rulings in his favour but still he carries the burden of exposure for fraud. And he is discomforted at every turn, by dysfunctional journalists. "They created a climate that enhanced the vulnerability of the newspaper industry," said the disgraced peer. Overreacted to Vietnam and the Watergate scandal. The result was public resentment and the growth of nasties such as Fox News and shouty rightwing talk radio. Shame on them. Conrad, according to a report in the FT, conceded that the future need not be bleak, especially with the opportunities afforded by the web. He commends the Washington Post for performing well in that area. The Guardian does well too, he said, but that's not necessarily a good thing. "I get glottal stops reading it." Mission accomplished, as far as we are concerned.
• But then times are hard and, with the jailing of former MP Jim Devine for expenses fiddling, everywhere feels the gloom of disappointment. Ed Balls, fresh from being castigated in the Commons as "the most annoying man in politics" feels it just as keenly as the rest of us. "Politicians, man, you used to be heroes, man," said the passenger travelling beside the shadow chancellor on a bus in north London, prior to the sentencing. "Yeah," replied Balls with a tinge of regret. "What happened?"
• And yet, political heavyweights comparable to yesteryear still exist. For who would be slipshod enough to exclude my Lord Ashcroft, the artist formerly known as David Cameron's ATM, from the list of those who provide the foundation stones of our democracy. "To ask Her Majesty's government what percentage of coal used for British energy was imported in each year from 1984 until 2010," is the question from the Paxman of the red benches. What's he up to? And where does his beloved island of Belize fit in?
• Yes, nothing is quite as it seems. Ask the bods at Firecracker Films, responsible for the Channel 4 hit My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. Audiences of 9 million; wall-to-wall coverage in the tabloids. Documentary heaven. So it's understandable that the filmmakers travelled to London Television Centre on Wednesday keen to wallow in their glory with a Royal Television Society debate. But it didn't turn out like that. Instead, they found themselves ambushed by a score and more of angry travellers in the audience who accused them of misrepresentation, negative stereotyping, providing a cover for violence and accompanying their series with the wrong music. My Big Fat Night Out ruined!
• Heartening news, for we learn that the peregrine falcons that hunt using a base in the higher reaches of parliament, with a nest in Vauxhall, now have three eggs and counting. A nest of boobies usually dominate events in Westminster. So this is nice.
• Finally, "clitch, clitch, clitch", we said, poking fun at politicians who mangle their pronunciation. Clem Attlee, we said, was trying to say cliche. Only he wasn't. It was Ernie Bevin, that other titan of the Labour movement. The thinking man's John Prescott, they call him. Well, not John Prescott, obviously.