I realised today while browsing through the BBC News website that it's exactly a year now since NuLabour's tail-end Charlie took over the reins at Number Ten. If I remember correctly, he was keen to get the top job so that Labour could be "renewed", and promised to do his utmost to bring about "change".

Well - he's delivered, big time. He's renewed Labour in a rather unedifying image of governmental incompetence and electoral hopelessness, and an absolute collapse of public support for his wretched party over the last year is just about the most welcome change I could have asked of him.

A by-election was held yesterday at Henley, Boris Johnson's old constituency.

Now I grant you, the Labour Party was never going to win that one; your average resident of Henley doesn't need to sell electoral support for state handouts.  But Labour didn't merely lose, they were beaten into fifth place - behind the Greens and the BNP! The Conservatives attracted more than 18 times as many votes as Labour.

NuLabour is currently 18 points behind in the polls. Thanks, Gordon!

I've just purchased a film scanner to scan my old negatives, and while looking for something colourful to test it with, I came across this old photo, taken with my Lomo, a cheap & cheerful Russian 35mm compact that has since become something of a cult item.

This is the Austin Princess that my Dad acquired for me when I was a student in the '80s, I think for about £40. It's pictured here in Hartlepool, in early 1987.

I used it for commuting between Hartlepool and Teesside University, and for travelling to York University to spend weekends with my girlfriend at the time, Sara.

It's fair to say that I hated this car. It managed about 14 miles for every gallon of petrol and had to be topped up with oil every week. It was grotesquely disfigured by rust and unpainted body filler. And most aggravating of all - if it had been left idle for more than a day or so, the battery would usually be dead, and I'd have to use jump leads or a clutch start to get it going.

Fortunately, the car park where it spent weekends at York was at the top of a hill. Quite often on a Monday morning, I'd have to push it down the hill, steering with my left hand until it was rolling downward under its own gravity, jump into the driving seat, put it in first gear and carefully lift the clutch to start the engine.

It finally died while crossing a hump-back bridge near York, when its suspension completely collapsed. I did manage to drive it back to Hartlepool somehow, though.

A couple I know are having their child "baptised" this weekend.

This demeaning ritual is taking place because at least one of them believes that, if later in life, the boy communicates telepathically with a cosmic Jewish zombie called Jesus to accept it as his master, the zombie can make him live forever. It won't do this without the head having been dipped in water.

I understand that the child may have to symbolically eat the zombie's flesh as well, and have an evil force removed from his soul that is present because the first female human was persuaded by a talking snake to eat from a magical tree.

They are educated people. It's 2008.