It seems like things can't get any worse. But trust me: if the Labour Party doesn't elect someone capable of giving them direction and demonstrating some form of ideological resolve, things are going to get a hell of a lot worse. Who knows? By the next general election, Labour could even go the way of the Liberal Democrats.
The Opposition that doesn't Oppose is not something to aspire to. If Labour hadn't permanently destroyed any chance of recapturing those left wing votes they have lost to the SNP in Scotland or to the Greens and Plaid Cymru in England and Wales before the election then they have assured that outcome tonight.
It's 11:18 on the evening of Tuesday 20 July and I've just read that George Osborne's Welfare Bill has passed through the House of Commons in the face...
What has happened to the Labour party? Once the proud defender of the working classes, it has been steadily showing its true blue colours since it assumed the mantle of the now defunct and destructive 'New Labour' project.
Pink, it seems, really is a women's issue. It doesn't matter whether you are a woman of colour, a woman of means, a single mother, a 16 year old girl, a lesbian - if you want to be taken seriously, you can't be pink. 'Being pink' is about more than just wearing pink; it's about displaying any indicator of the particular brand of femininity that pink represents...
This week could be seen as the defining moment of the 2015 election. The week that the true nature of the election made itself clear. Whether it is going to be an election based on policy or frippery - a tax avoidance or a pink bus election.
I can't help but think that it must be hard for The Sun's readers to absorb credible stories about women, since the first image they are met with is boobs.
It's smug, it's nasty, it's a publicity triumph. It also reaffirms what campaigners have always said about Page 3: That The Sun's loyalty to Page 3 is a commitment to disempowering women under the guise of that age-old defence of sexism: "it's just harmless fun".
Like a creepy uncle contemplating emigration, page three is unlikely to be missed. But the hydra-headed jubilation in some of the press is little more than an unseemly basking in a class-tinged tyranny of some people's taste over others, which distracts from an appreciation of painful economic inequality.
Labour is still suffering the hangover of the Blair/Mandelson/Brown years, and those voices must be silenced outright over the next 6 months for the sake of the PLP as they seem to be PR and electoral cyanide.
Some people like sport. Some do not. Neither is incorrect. But until Big Bang Theory retakes its place as the sole TV omnipotent, the World Cup is impossible to avoid. Although thanks to good-spirited wombling Japanese fans, at least you won't trip over it's mess.
Politicians don't 'do' sorry. With the exception of Nick Clegg, who can say sorry with some considerable style and start memes with equal aplomb, most politicians would rather engage in various forms of linguistic gymnastics rather than let the actual word 'sorry' escape from their lips.
To witness, in full swing, the 'politics of apology', with all its childish, faux-outrage, and fuelled by right-wing tabloid hysteria, is pretty dispiriting. Labour's Harriet Harman, I am assured, has no plans to apologise for her role in the National Council for Civil Liberties four decades ago. And, in the absence of a 'smoking gun', nor should she have to.
Do you want my alternative take on the ongoing row between Harriet Harman and the Daily Mail over paedophilia, the future of coalition governments in the UK and Angela Merkel's visit to London to see her 'naughty nephew' David Cameron? Would you like to see me attempt to speak some German on camera, despite not knowing a word of it? Here's the political week in 60 seconds...
As it was, David Cameron went up to Scotland anyway and even held a cabinet meeting there, possibly to prove he knows where it is, possibly to find out what sort of place could have made Michael Gove the way he is...
Far from being the man-in-waiting, I was beginning to feel more like the lady-in-waiting, running around behind Harriet cajoling people to partake. How could I showcase my political gravitas if we couldn't get past disparate and prolonged episodes of 'guess the face'? Somebody needed to hear the soliloquies I'd been rehearsing for a week.