3rd Blog From The Sun

Well, this entry has been a long time coming but the six weeks worth of raw material Ive been able to sift through for ideas has been nothing short of sensational. Firstly, of course, the dashing Steve Eling retained his council seat on May 3rd with what I believe was the largest Labour majority in Sandwell (this despite an energetic Liberal campaign; Ewart, for his part, just couldn't be arsed with it) which was very satisfying for everybody involved - but particularly Pam. Equally pleasing was the BNP's singular lack of progress and indeed watching their roundly defeated candidates slink away from the count, clad in suits almost certainly left over from their last court appearance, was a heartening sight. And strangely hilarious too. Then of course our ignoble leader decided to throw in the towel ( delivering a gibbering final address that was, to me at least, just on the vomit inducing side of trite) and allow poor old Gordon his well deserved shot at the big time. Although he seemingly has many critics from both within and without the party, and even worse is on friendly terms with Paul Dacre, I quite like him; his committment to social justice and eradicating poverty seems sincere and despite his toadying to big business I would venture to suggest that hes been a little bit bolder in terms of redistributing wealth than some of his detractors might claim. Theres lots to be said on the Deputy Leadership race, but not by me; Ill just take this opportunity to say that I will be voting for Jon Cruddas, mainly because he launched his campaign in Wednesbury, which I think is kind of cute. Finally, and most importantly of all, the mighty West Bromwich Albion were denied their rightful place in the Premiership by a frustratingly amateurish Derby Country 'smash and grab' performance in which they were aided and abetted at every turn by Graham 'Could I conceivably be more of a twat?' Poll. As we did at times play the silken flowing football we are famous as far away as Leek for and Derby's sole tactic was, as I say, kicking the crap out of our players and then hitting us on the break as they lay dazed and twitching and bleeding from the ears, I think we can justifiably say there is dignity in defeat. However the image of Tony Mowbray, who during the game resembled a curiously inert proboscis monkey, sitting on the pavement outside the hallowed Astle Gates and muttering to himself like Marlon Brando in 'On the Waterfront' is truly a haunting one