FRANK FIELD DAY

I think it was John Cooper Clarke who said that Bolton was the kind of town where if a plane flew over everyone would look up. Huesca is that kind of place where if someone starts digging a hole a crowd gathers. And so it was that I saw a crowd gathering outside one of the banks yesterday not knowing that the hole being dug was by two would be bank robbers who ended up having their master plan thwarted by some rustics with a reputation for being self willed, which for once paid off as they tackled the miscreants with, I gather, great aplomb. One ended up with broken ribs and the other some sort of damage to his face. There seems to be a spate of crimes in this street as it is the same one where a supermarket assistant was threatened and several cafes and restaurants have been robbed this year. Then I learn that four teenage girls armed with a fake gun robbed two younger ones in the park the other week and not far from here four women have had their bags snatched. All since the 'town' has acquired 'city' status it appears, or as others would have it, due to the recession.

The terrible trio, Piti the Priapic Poodle, Tony Blair and our mayor have all been keeping a low profile lately but the mayor was spotted standing next to Henderson yesterday at an exhibition we had been invited to. Despite my words I have no intention of wounding our mayor but Henderson being a man of action was spotted in the chief's vicinity and I found myself shooting across the floor gag in hand just as H was opening his cake hole to speak some words of truth, and consequences were avoided.

On the subject of politicians I wondered if being forced during some party game which politician or politicians I would buy a drink. I decided one of each of the main parties. Frank Field, Vince Cable and Ken Clarke. All because they possess the kind of names that tend to roll off the tongue when you are talking about someone pragmatic, likeable and who you have just seen in the high street, and despite their political leanings you might like to share a drink and chinwag. I know of three I would never buy a drink and that would be David Milliband, Tony McNulty and Caroline Flint who regardless of which party they belong to possess a deluded confidence that only serves to raise my cholesterol. Milliband also makes the mistake of calling Condaleeza Rice 'Condi' in front of millions. McNulty leaves an aftertaste of sweaty, boorish oaf that lingers in my room after I switch the tele off. He belongs in a Bleasedale script. Flint by name and nature is one to watch and makes me wonder if she wasn't a minister she would be a loan shark or debt collector. To be honest, I probably wouldn't truck, barter or exchange with any of them although I like Osborne if only because he looks like a glass of port.

Maybe I should be writing about Spanish politicians as they are just as scary and my other bete noir, Esperanza Aguirre has a vague look about her that silently screams Women on the Verge. She does resemble the wife scorned in the film of the same name. Mariano Rajoy is not attractive enough, either in speech or in looks. What is it with Spanish men and this type of beard? Beards are for people with something to hide or soldiers stuck in a desert bereft of a razor. Or maybe an experiment, like how long can one go without shaving one's armpits?

Lastly, the tinnitus has improved. The ringing has been replaced with the sound of a car left running outside.