So, I was rather surprised to receive an email this morning letting me know that I have been selected for something. Well, I get those all the time, but this time it wasn’t from the Kazakhstan National Lottery telling me that I may have already won TEN MILLION ENGLISH POUNDS.

This was from One and Other, informing me that I’ve been selected as one of the people who gets to stand on the Fourth Plinth in Trafalgar Square as part of Antony Gormley’s latest project. So, between 5pm and 6pm on August 1st, I’ll be up there. No idea yet what I’m going to do beyond admire the view, but all suggestions are welcome - and if you can make it past the heavenly fire, plague of locusts and other obstacles that are no dount conspiring to thwart my triumphal pproach to the plinth, then feel free to come along and join the crowd.

The first thought that springs to mind is that primaries would fit in very well with fixed-term Parliaments. If we know the date of the next General Election well in advance, it’s easy to fix the dates of primaries to link with that (perhaps around six months previously, as is common in the US system). It’d also make it possible to put in new rules on spending limits when there’s a longer and more clearly defined period between being chosen as a party’s candidate and the primary.

Secondly, primaries - at least, ones using the US model - make the somewhat more fraud-proof systems of individual voter registration more appealing. If we’re looking at a system where we’re targeting party identification rather than party membership, that’s the sort of thing that people can choose to include when they register to vote, should they so wish.

There would still be a role for party membership in this model, though - someone has to do the organising! While anyone who identified as a party supporter would be able to vote in its primaries, those who were members would be the ones who set the rules for their party with regard to how you qualified to be a candidate in that primary, how the party’s funds are spent in campaigns as well as selecting more local candidates (at least initially, I’m not sure that primaries for local Council candidates would be worthwhile - in terms of cost/benefit, rather than principle, at least).

What the local party memberships could also decide would be who was allowed to take part in their primaries - would it be just identified party supporters, or would they also allow those who were registered as supporting no party to join in? As can be seen from the American system, there are pros and cons to both sides - you can widen your appeal by allowing everyone in, but then you have to accept who they choose as your candidate.

I’m not completely convinced primaries are what Britain needs, but they’re an interesting idea to consider. The biggest potential drawback I can see is that parties won’t want to give up their power over the selection process and would allow only a small number of candidates to even compete in a primary. Then, rather than having a genuine choice between different types of candidates representing different strands of opinion within their party, you just end up with voters being faced with the choice between Generic Party Candidate A and Generic Party Candidate B.

More at Take Back Power.

With that in mind, I decided it was time to demonstrate my hagiographical skills, but who should be the lucky recipient? Then, I caught sight of someone who had risen to a position of power with all the skill of a Renaissance Venetian and seemed to be be in possession of great wealth, such that writing cheques for five-figure sums was something she could do without a pause for thought.

So, beneath the cut, please find my tribute to the Secretary of State for Communities and Local Government. I happily accept cheques or cash, and can probably arrange something through PayPal for credit cards.

I have come to praise great Hazel Blears,
For she transcends all human fears.
She does not flinch, she does not sneer,
Though some say that once she shed a tear.

On the day the Greatest Leader fled,
She cried a single drop, it’s said.
Then switched back to her happy face,
As the Dearest Leader took his place.

I have come to praise great Hazel Blears,
For she cleanses herself in a bath of tears.
Her sin washed away by good intention,
So thousands dead I shall not mention.

She cannot be blamed for anything much,
For she possesses the common touch.
See the people of Salford chant her name,
And ask for her to heal the lame.

I have come to praise great Hazel Blears,
For she wears a necklace of human ears.
She whispers orders through each one,
Ensuring Dearest Leader’s work is done.

But they also show her listening skill,
How she hears the cries of the sick and ill!
A great helmsman caring for her ship,
We’ll never be released from her loving grip.

I have come to praise great Hazel Blears,
For her kind shall rule us for a thousand years.

All the futures are dying.

Here’s a thought - is this a possible explanation for the Fermi paradox? Unless civilizations take advantage of a very narrow window to get off the planet, do they end up trapped by their own rubbish?

Finally, one of you asked if there would be a White House blog. Why not?

(Howard Dean, guest-posting on Lawrence Lessig’s blog)

It only took five and a half years to happen…

Back In The Playground Blues

I dreamed I was back in the playground, I was about four feet high
Yes dreamed I was back in the playground, standing about four feet high
Well the playground was three miles long and the playground was five miles wide

It was broken black tarmac with a high wire fence all around
Broken black dusty tarmac with a high wire fence running all around
And it had a special name to it, they called it The Killing Ground

Got a mother and a father, they’re one thousand years away
The rulers of The Killing Ground are coming out to play
Everybody thinking: ‘Who they going to play with today?’

Well you get it for being Jewish
And you get it for being black
Get it for being chicken
And you get it for fighting back
You get it for being big and fat
Get it for being small
Oh those who get it get it and get it
For any damn thing at all

Sometimes they take a beetle, tear off its six legs one by one
Beetle on its black back, rocking in the lunchtime sun
But a beetle can’t beg for more, a beetle’s not half the fun

I heard a deep voice talking, it had that iceberg sound
‘It prepares them for Life’ - but I have never found
Any place in my life worse than The Killing Ground.

I posted some other poems by him for National Poetry Day a few years ago here.

Of course, if they were to do that, it’d be the first Star Wars-branded entertainment in about ten years I’d have any desire to go and see.

“You were sick, but now you’re well again, and there’s work to do.”

James is quick off the mark to champion Simon Russell Beale, who would be an interesting choice for the role, as would current bookies’ favourite Paterson Joseph, though that has been the sort of market where a £50 bet would likely make someone odds-on favourite. Of course, rampant press speculation is rarely correct in picking the next Doctor, as Bill Nighy and Brian Blessed can attest to, so we should have some interesting months of speculation before Steven Moffat gets to start his tenure as Official Who Head Cheese by announcing his pick. As yet, there’s no confirmation to the rumours I’ve just made up that the decision will be heralded by a plume of white smoke rising from Upper Boat.

Eccleston and Tennant have made the role one that high-profile talented actors will be interested in, so it should be interesting to see how many of them use interviews in the coming months to confirm or deny interest in the job. If it was up to me, as well as Joseph and Beale, my shortlist would include Rory Kinnear, Adrian Lester, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Rupert Penry-Jones and Damian Lewis, but that’s likely put the kiss of death on all of them…

Back in the mid-1980s, young comics genius Frank Miller used a unique sort of mental alchemy to tell a story that would become legend.

The story of an aging warrior, dragging himself from a restful retirement to fight once more: possibly senile, definitely psychotic, obsessed with reclaiming past glories with no thought to the consequences.

Due to political pressure, Miller was forced to subvert his own dream, applying his astonishing sense of realpolitik to the debased literature of comic books.

We are proud to at last bring his staggering vision to full and revolutionary life.

McCain: The Mavericking Maverick Mavericks More (and yes, you may not get the joke if you haven’t read this)