It's election day at last. Today's the day when the British public decide who runs the country. To be honest, the apathy that afflicts the public has indeed left its mark on me. It's hard to care who's voted in because deep in your heart you just know they're all the same breed. That said I still have something of a soft spot for the Monster Raving Looney Party. Way back in the late 80's Red Jasper played a gig in Devon for them to celebrate their defeat in the polls. Screaming Lord Sutch was there, performing as the headline act, and we were his backing band for the night, pumping out crowd pleasers for two or three hours into the night.

The old guy is now gone of course. He sadly committed suicide in a fit of depression something like a decade ago. I like to think it wasn't because we trashed his music career once and for all, and if there really is a heaven, by now God is bursting into tantrums at his irreverent antics. Rather like the Department of Work and Pensions getting annoyed with me because I don't fit their socialist stereotypes, a situation which should raise eyebrows given they claim to support cultural diversity. Fine words but the reality is they want us to be is subservient beggars. It's a class thing. By claiming benefits you're automatically considered a lower life form. That means of course they sometimes fail to observe the respect for customers they also like to trumpet about. But it looks good in head office meetings with the politicians we vote for.

I am of course further saddened by the news that Screaming Lord Sutch's belongings went to the auctioneer last week in Cirencester. It seems a very downbeat epitaph to someone who brought a little diversity into peoples lives. One can't help wondering if he'd been voted into office whether he'd still be here. In a sense I can understand the pain he must have felt. People become performers because they feel a need to. As I can readily confirm, failing to win an audiences approval is a very soul-crushing experience. Red Jasper used to play gigs around England two, three, four, even five nights a week, and whatever criticisms I might level at the other members of the band back then, it takes a certain commitment and resilience to face yet another audience that needs to be convinced you're worth listening to.

My stars for today tell me that Venus and Mars are on speaking terms in my chart and all is sunny and bright in my life, apart from the glaring possibility that other people might not see it that way. Sigh. It looks as if I have yet another gig to perform on my next signing day with my claims advisor plotting to demean my unofficial status and threatening me with expulsion from the premises if I don't like it. Since this is an institutional thing, would voting for a particular party make any difference? Yes, you can have cultural diversity, but only if you're culturally correct.

Ferrari of the Week

I see a lot of expensive, luxurious, and obscenely fast pieces of automotive machinery passing me on the road where I live. Porsches, Lamborghini's, Maserati's, and no shortage of gleaming red Ferrari's either. Of course their owners are concious of losing their licenses in a culture where speed is the work of the devil and owners of fast cars must be crucified at any opportunity. So instead of that stirring scream I hear them burble by with a muted cackle. Owners of Mercedes and BMW cruise past in an attempt to gain some of the admiration, but let's face it, driving cars without that air of exclusivity is rather like squeezing into the corner of the photograph just to impress someone. That said, there are Ferrari's and then there are Ferrari's. A 1962 Ferrari 400 Superamerica Cabriolet Pininfarina SWB has just been sold for