TORIES IN A BLUR OF CRITICAL CROTCH MASSAGE

David Blunkett, in the Commons to announce the reduction of the status
of pot to a class C drug, was furious. Really cross. And, I thought,
with his tangly beard and moustache, looking very much like one of R
Crumb's characters, the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, first and best
of the druggie comic strips.

But first an apology. In this column on Tuesday I said that my old
friend Michael Fabricant had arrived in the Chamber and had promptly
grabbed hold of his crotch. (His crotch, that is, not David
Blunkett's.) I also suggested that a bleeper message he received a
moment later might have been from the whips, telling him to keep his
hands to himself, or rather keep his hands off himself.

I have received a courteous letter from Mr Fabricant pointing out that
last Saturday he had been climbing in the Lake District, where he
suffered a minor groin strain, similar to the footballer Michael Owen.

"He was given constant groin massage between matches. Sadly, this
facility is not available in the House," Mickey writes. For this
reason, he has to give himself constant groin massage during debates,
and it was this he was doing while I watched.

Yesterday Mikhail Gorbachev was in the gallery to observe the
proceedings. Michael Fabricant sat below him. I saw the former Soviet
leader turn in a puzzled sort of way to his interpreter, no doubt
saying: "Hmmm, I thought that 'loins led by donkeys' meant the old
British army, not the Conservative party..."

Anyhow, I would like to apologise to Mr Fabricant for my mistake and
also to readers for any inconvenience caused by my error.

Now, back to Mr Blunkett. He was furious with the former drug tsar
Keith Hellawell, who announced his "resignation" yesterday at a time
meant to cause maximum embarrassment and confusion to the home secretary.

In fact, Mr Blunkett went as far as he could to say that the unhappy
tsar had not quit at all but had been sacked.

"He ceased to be the tsar when I became home secretary", and had been
allocated lesser work. Mr Gorbachev might have reflected that we get
rid of troublesome tsars in a rather less messy fashion in this country.

"I'm not going to stoop to argue his case," Mr Blunkett went on,
angrily, "but he has changed his mind three times. He is entitled to
do so, but I have changed my mind once."

He was just as angry with Oliver Letwin, the shadow home secretary,
and a man who is so painfully fair that it can be agony to watch, like
seeing a contortionist try to turn himself inside out. Mr Letwin is
unique among senior Tories in that he hates to disagree with the
minister he is supposed to shadow. On this occasion he did, but in the
most painfully fair way.

He hated disagreeing so much that he went on to list Mr Blunkett's
admirable features, including his ability to change his mind when his
policies were "ill-advised".

But Mr Angry decided to take this as an insult. He was "very sorry"
that Mr Letwin took this line, and spoke crossly about "cheap
political strategies".

Mr Letwin looked pained by this. I hesitate to mention Mr Blunkett's
blindness, because he is sensitive about it. But it struck me that
being unable to read body language must be a drawback for a
politician. We could see that Mr Letwin was praising him sincerely -
Mr Letwin is never happier than when he is praising an opponent - and
Mr Blunkett could not.

Indeed he looked so peeved that I half expected him to stride over the
dispatch box to offer Mr Letwin constant groin massage. Then go in
search of Keith Hellawell to give him the same treatment.