"It's only our first exchange, and already the prime minister is asking me the questions!"

What a diabolically clever little monster.

I am concerned. To go in to your first session as leader of the opposition, a Tory opposition at that, look Tony Blair in the eye and ooze "We're going to support you all the way, so there's no way you can fail to get your reforms through, is there?" is utterly too nasty for words. You could see the Labour backbenchers in the background twitching like sharks catching the scent of blood in the water. Henceforth Mr. Cameron shall be referred to as 'The Rt. Hon. Steerpike'. Tony Blair has to go NOW. If we have three years of NewTory/NewTony machinating away until Blair has to rely on their votes to get his reforms through, then we have to trust the Great British public to vote for Gordon Brown after he's only been in a few months, there is a serious danger we will end up with this flaming weasel shite as Prime Minister.

There is also the problem of Thatcher. Although I still wait in breathy anticipation every time a BBC news alert to pops up on my screen, although I still jump out of bed in the morning and sprint to the TV in case today's the day, although I am quietly bumping off a generation of Scousers to get nearer the head of the conga line that will dance over her grave (and we were close, so close. As a wise man once said, it's not the despair, I can cope with the despair. It's the hope...), I greatly fear that Thatcher will deal out her last piece of evil and pop her clogs in the very very near future, thus creating an 'End-Of-Days-Dawning-Of-The-Age-Of-Aquarius-A-Chosen-One-Shall-Arise' situation.

WE MUST FIGHT, PEOPLE! WE CANNOT ALLOW THIS TO HAPPEN.

The trouble with the British is lack of blood flow to the extremities, as it were. Look at the bloody state of us! It has come to a pretty pass when you can get chucked out of a rock band called The Libertines for taking too many drugs. "Why does it always rain on me?" indeed! Because you're utterly wet and a weed and nature likes a joke as much as anyone. When was the last time someone famous died in a pool of their own vomit? Even George Best went quietly. We are being seduced by the American Oprah Winfrey Rehab/Detox culture, when it's utterly alien to the way the British mind functions.

Religion in America is about what America is about: new starts, forgiveness, absolution, the idea that you can make yourself a person fit for heaven, even if it is on the nineteenth try. Religion in Britain is about the need to believe that by getting on with the interminable grind of life day after day for the whole of your life you can earn your place in paradise. We don't expect to feel the holy spirit of whatever religion we are coursing through us like electricity. We don't expect a personal relationship with a deity. You know that poem thing about the guy walking along the beach with Jesus, seeing footprints in the sand and wondering why at the hardest times of his life, there was only one set of prints? In America, Jesus says "It was then that I carried you." In Britain, if we're walking down the beach with anyone it's likely to be the dog, and for those of us that do have someone in our lives we love and trust to look after us always, the poem would finish "When you saw only one set of prints, it was then that I had gone to get you a beer."

Well it has to stop. WAKE UP!

Ladies and gentlemen of 2005, get passionate. Drink glasses of flaming spirits, dance and shout and wave your arms around. Wear bright colours. Vote for politicians who look like they'd face down a tank to defend your liberties. Demand that people do their jobs. Celebrate and appreciate excellence. Stop watching programs about gardening and hanging wallpaper. Turn that damn music up. Stop allowing Katie Melua to release records. And fight fight fight to stop insipid, insidious and downright insane politicians hijacking our country and using it as a guinea pig for their loopy foreign-sounding ideas. All-night drinking? Bloody stupid idea. If you're out much past eleven thirty on a Saturday, there's no way you'll be up in time for the Archers omnibus Sunday morning. And if people stop spending two hours every Sunday listening to mooing noises and meditating on what it is to be English and middle class, then where will we be?

That's right- France. With President Steerpike telling us that we can't put beautiful new words like chav in the dictionary.