Most people will be delighted to learn that the nation's least-favourite feminist, Harriet 'Hatty' Harman, is being investigated by police after leaving the scene of an accident in which - wait for it - she drove into a parked car while talking on her mobile phone.

In spite of this stupidity, which sets the cause of wimmin drivers back about 100 fucking years, Hatty was unfazed.

It seems that, post-crunch, the strident feminist wound down her window and said, with the usual arrogance of the entitled classes: 'I'm Harriet Harman - you know where you can get hold of me.'

But guess what, Hatty? That's not legal. You can't actually do that, not matter how terrifically important you think you are.

Even though you're the neice of the Countess Longford, and the product of an expensive private education, you can't actually do what the fuck you want.

Even though you're deputy Leader of the Labour Party, and you're married to one of the most powerful Trade Union leaders in the land, you're not above the fucking law.

A little refresher on the law for Ms Harperson: Under the 1988 Road Traffic Act, any driver involved in a collision with another vehicle is required by law to stop and give their name and address, as well as details of the vehicle's owner and the vehicle's registration.
Any driver who does not give their details at the time must then report the accident to the police.

The silly bitch doesn't even need to be driving while on the phone - we already pay for her chauffeur-driven Toyota Prius - so what the fuck was she doing driving herself, with apparently urgent phone calls to make?

Police sources told The Mail on Sunday she was due to be questioned early last week, but this was "delayed because of the Labour conference".

What? What? The process of law was delayed, just because it might have made the ruling party look bad? Jesus Christ, we really are in the last days of a banana republic.

The police source went on to say:

"The police were contacted by concerned members of the public who had witnessed the accident and the behaviour of Ms Harman who they said drove off without leaving her details.

'She is now being investigated for driving away from an accident because it appears that she did not comply with the law which requires her to leave her name and address or her insurance details with the owner of the damaged vehicle.

'If prosecuted and convicted for failing to stop after accident she could face up to six months' imprisonment.."

Yeah, right.  Like that's going to happen. Much as CF would love to see Hatty H. behind bars, it'll be a cold day in hell before an MP even has to pay a fucking parking ticket, so this shit won't stick.

Apparently, when questioned by the police, the Harpy will not 'necessarily' be arrested but instead she will have to sign a police document in which she must state that she is telling the truth.

Tell you what, Plod, you're wasting your time there. A Labour politician? Tell the truth? Not fucking likely. You're more likely to get a long lecture on what 'The Tories' would have done in they'd been in the driving seat.


We all know how this story's going to end, don't we? Already a spokeswoman (well, of course it was a fucking spokeswoman) has said that:

"Harriet strongly refutes these allegations but she is co-operating fully with the police.""

Strongly refutes? What the fuck? Which allegation do you 'refute', Hatty? Was it not you in the car? Did the car not really hit the other car at all? Were you not, in spite of what witnesses say, on the phone? Did you actually stop and give your address and then everyone forgot you'd done it? Or did the whole thing not actually happen at all, and we all imagined it.

Or is this just the standard, corrupt and mendacious nuLab response to any accusation of any kind of wrong-doing: "No, I didn't" ?

Just how stupid do we think we all are, Hatty? Oh. Right.



_

No need to repeat all of Harriet Harman's idiotic drivellings (a sample: "men cannot be left to run things on their own"), appearing in today's Sunday Times. Stupidity like that is best ignored, and it's been covered all across the blogosphere already.

And not much need to offer a critique either - it's already been done. Check this selection of insults out, all from another member of the Labour Party:

"Quotes like this just raise leadership issues once again just at a time when we should all be pulling together.."

"Success doesn't come from saying all male leaderships are bad"

"Why take away from the party the right to choose its leaders on the basis of ability?"

"In theory you were elected on merit, not your gender.."

".. after a disastrous June election campaign you were supposed to be running.."

"...with a poll today saying we're 24% behind the Tories in the key marginals that you're supposed to be in charge of campaigning in.."

Yeah, baby! That's getting it said. That's telling the silly bitch.

So, who is the source of this torrent of abuse? Who delivered this richly deserved kicking to the Harperson?

None other than ... the people's bulimic, John Prescott.

Well well. This is first - and probably the last - time that CF has been in agreement with Prezza. Well done, you inarticulate salad-dodger. Keep it up!



Hat-tip to Mark Reckons, not least for bothering to read Prezza's blog on a Sunday.

Following the chaos in Westminster, there has been endless analysis in the main stream media of the roles and motivations of the many players.

Several commentators are saying that Downing Street's problems stem from it being too macho; that there should be more women involved; and that the only people who came out the utter fucking shambles with any credit were the female MP's.

Lance Price, in the Guardian's CiF, even thinks there should be an all-women government:

"..there are now more than enough on the backbenches with the experience and talent to form a perfectly workable government. They could even decide amongst themselves which jobs they took. Women, in my experience, even in politics, are more sensible about these things."

CF begs to differ. In CF's opinion, the common factor we're seeing here is that many women in politics today - regardless of political affiliation - are completely batshit fucking crazy.

What the fuck is Hazel Blears thinking of? a huge, dramatic, carefully-timed resignation. Then, just a few days later, she decides that, actually, everything she did was totally, utterly wrong, and makes a series of emotional and grovelling apologies.

""In hindsight that judgement was wrong .. I should have waited until after the election. The effect on the party is something I will live with forever"

And Harriet Harman? Very busy, pushing her legislation that will ban the 'whites only' membership rules of the BNP . What? What? Are you insane? Exactly how many "non-white" folk have been clamouring to join the party that doesn't recognise them as British? As Old Holborn points out, this is about as droolingly nuts as a man insisting that he be given the right to have babies.

Caroline Flint? Nutter. One week she's clambering in and out of silk frocks to pose for some magazine, the next she's whining that she's not taken seriously, and Gordon just thinks she's window dressing. Every fucking story in the press about this (possibly valid) point was illustrated with photo's of her pouting moodily in a photo session and a posh frock.

And the creme de la creme? The top of the crazy heap?The arch fucking loon? The oh-dear-god-she's-really-lost-it-now fruitcake? Well of course, its Nadine fucking Dorries. In spite of her widely-reported and largely lunatic blogging about "poor me", CallMeDave doesn't seem to be able to keep away from her.

The other day, they went out for a meal together. Nice. Was Nadine grateful? Did she think better of Dave? Oh boy, yeah.

Apparently she was so excited to be dining with him, she was tipped over the edge into full-blown insanity. Bear in mind that the text below is from the blog of a grown woman; a fucking politician no less, not a love-struck 13 year old:

The night ended as it began, with laughter. Can you imagine Brown even knowing what I was talking about, if I were sitting next to him and I said 'just when you thought life couldn't get any better, along comes a Mint Baileys.' ? Exactly.

And it was good to see him laugh because we all know that there must be times during his day, when David the man, trapped within the pages of his frantic diary, cries somewhere inside.

Nurse! Nurse! A small sedative for Ms. Dorries...

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