I'd forgotten all about that poisonous cow Marina Hyde, who used to do the Diary in the Filth, but here she is again, reminding us that Mr Salter is a pottymouth - he called her a "fucking rude bitch" when she dared to question one of his press releases, she reminds us. She doesn't tell us though that in that same conversation he informed her that she should take some lessons from the Reading Evening Post, which knew how to talk to MPs.
The above incidentally is why I mention Reading politics and certain people in it fairly often on this blog. It is because there is a story to be told, a narrative which will be part of history, and because those who should report these matters do not. I don't just mean the Reading Evening Post, although their record is shameful even for a local rag edited by the product of a secondary modern school in the Kent coalfields (OK with that Mr Murrill?), but the many others who could and should comment in robust and forensic fashion on the Reading political scene - bloggers, broadcast media, present and former politicians even, are not doing so. Instead, former Cllr Howarth (prop. Public Impact Ltd, remember "Your Better Off With Labour"?) writes in the Reading Evening Post about what kind of champagne to take with you on a picnic (Veuve Clicquot apparently). If others won't tell the story then I must.