Times has yet another pop at Blunkett

[Flat in Fifth]

Two classics

First one here

Sadie Blunkett's dog said:

My week By Hugo Rifkind Sadie, David Blunkett's dog MONDAY I’m rushing down the streets of Whitehall, heading towards my department and musing about the notational implications of the bulk transfers of the generational inheritors of COEG and COSRS pensions, when suddenly there’s a tug on the lead. My initial assumption is that he’s caught the whiff of a bitch. But no. “Actually, I don’t think we’ll bother with the office today,” he says. “No. Maybe best not.” There isn’t time for this. We’ve been at the Department for Work and Pensions but a short while, he and I. I’m desperate to implement my brainwave about combining TPAS suggestions with an overhaul of FSAVCs, ASAP, and I tell him so. “Don’t growl at me, Sadie,” says the master. “We’re going home.” TUESDAY There’s an army of journalists outside, but he’s just sitting around listening to the radio. The telephone is ringing an awful lot. I wonder what he’s done? He hasn’t been like this since all that business with the woman. Not the last woman. The one before. The one who smelt of lacquer. If anything is to be achieved today, then it’s up to me. A quick trot through Parliament Square later and I’m at the department. “Listen to me,” I bark at the first civil servant I see. “The FSAVCs can wait. I’ve been thinking. If we’re dealing with an HS hybrid scheme, then the maximum approvable benefit must have fluctuating components at least until retirement annuity comes into play. OK?” “What’s that, Sadie?” says the civil servant, and winks at me. “The children are trapped in the old mineshaft?” This is bloody hopeless. WEDNESDAY He’s gone again. He’s resigned. And it’s not even a woman this time. It’s this business with the shares, and the directorships, and the ministerial code. I’m furious. This is awful. Last time he resigned we had to start spending all our time in that awful nightclub while he hobnobbed with dodgy businessmen and estate agent floozies who smelt of chewing gum. I always get stuck speaking to these awful ratty dogs poking out of old women’s handbags. Idiots, the lot of them. They wouldn’t know their SIPPS from their SFO. THURSDAY Quite a night. We ended up at some fancy party, where this shouty redhead was having a screaming match with that bloke off EastEnders. Doubtless it was something to do with their incremental contributions ratios, but to be honest, I leapt to conclusions. If you’ve seen the things that I’ve seen, you just do. Oh no, I found myself thinking, gazing from the redhead to the master. You haven’t, have you? FRIDAY The dust has settled and the master, much to my surprise, seems rather chipper. We’re out shopping, and there is a spring in his step. I can’t imagine why. The bond between man and dog is a strong one. Many is the happy hour we have spent poring over statutory stakeholder contributions and thrashing out the finer details of superannuation waivers. And all that is behind us now. What has he got to be so happy about? “Nightclubs tonight,” he says suddenly, rubbing me on the back of the neck. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Bit of bubbly, bit of music. Meet some . . . interesting people.” Girls, he means. Dark ones, who smell of lacquer. Blonde ones, who smell of gum. Girls, girls, girls. I’m not sure I can bear it. Perhaps I ought to have him fixed.

Then we have Alice Miles pointing out something far more serious here

Alice Miles said:

David Blunkett has been given a few weeks’ grace before leaving the grace-and-favour home in Belgravia he has occupied for four years. When he last resigned, 11 months ago, Tony Blair let him keep the flat, knowing he would be back in government soon. It must be hard for a blind man to move house. Presumably there are plenty of adaptions to make a place safe. I don’t begrudge Mr Blunkett a few weeks, or even months, extra, in his government home. What I do begrudge is that, while he has been occupying the free flat, he has rented out his own home in South London and simultaneously used a parliamentary allowance, from which he claimed £20,608 last year, designed to help MPs to fund the cost of a second home in London. He has also been paid two tax-free ministerial severance payments of £18,725 each, in under a year. This is paid in order to help former ministers to stick to the rule that they should not take another job for three months, a rule we know that Mr Blunkett breached, and yet he still intends to take the second payment. He also owns a house in Sheffield and rents a cottage in Derbyshire, and as a former Home Secretary may be allowed to keep his chauffeur-driven ministerial car. I don’t think we need feel too sorry for him.

He was a prat when he was in Sheffield and nothing changes. Good riddance.

[Jaglover]

First article is very funny