Political column – November 23

One look at Dominic Raab on the campaign trail was enough to set them off, as you may have seen on our website.

"We want to get Brexit done." Raff! Raff!

A particularly persistent pooch heckler was Bo, an excitable black and white terrier.

What the canine constituency were saying, we cannot be sure, but it came from the heart, and made about as much sense as the Pavlovian humanoid barking that you so often get in the House of Commons.

Animals used to play more of a part in elections in the days in which people kept pigs in the back garden and horses and donkeys were used for transport and work. For instance, pigs would be painted in party colours, dogs and horses dressed up, and things like that which would cause outrage and protests today.

Nothing with four legs gets the vote, so it goes without saying that all the party manifestos are humanist documents, and the issues they address which have relevance beyond humanity are seen through the human perspective.

My father in later life was curious about whether there was a philosophy, theology, or creed which encompassed the animal kingdom, and thought there wasn't one, until somebody reminded him of the work of Albert Schweitzer.

The head of a large comprehensive school, my dad would always take Bosun to school with him. Growing up, Bosun was our Staffordshire Bull Terrier. Bosun was a lovely friendly pet so no schoolchildren were harmed in the process. But those were different times, and somehow I can't see any head of a state school doing it now.

After he died, we heard a tale, which may or may not have been apocryphal. It was that if, during interviews for new members of staff, the panel could not decide who to choose, Bosun was given the casting vote.

Anyway, moving on, we've been seeing those manifesto launches. This is the political version of Would I Lie To You?

They are proof, as if anybody could doubt it, that Santa Claus really exists. Austerity is over, and there's bags of money to spend, apparently. Somebody's found magic money trees – whole forests of them.

Ken Clarke, the recently departed Father of the House, said he never even saw the Tories' 2017 general election manifesto.

He told the Commons earlier this year: "It was produced some time during the campaign, rather obscurely, and I read about it in the newspapers. No copy was ever sent to me and I have never met a constituent who bothered to get a copy or read it.

"It had one rather startling policy in it, which was abandoned within about a day and played no further role.

"There is another myth growing – a new constitutional convention that says that anyone who stands for a party and gets elected here is bound by some rubbishy document that somebody unknown in Central Office, not the Cabinet, has produced and that is meant to bind them for the next Parliament."

In other words, manifestos count for nothing. He let the cat out of the bag.

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I for one am pleased to see the return of Jose Mourinho for what he will bring to Premier League football.

It is essential that in the fast moving game of today that there is somebody watching from the touchline who can distinguish between really serious injuries which require a star player leaving the field for treatment, and minor injuries which should not interrupt play.

In a well known incident, "Doctor" Mourinho demonstrated what a male manager 50 metres away can contribute to the "impulsive and naive" diagnosis being made by a trained female medic on the spot (who was destined not to remain in employment at his then club, Chelsea).

As Mourinho and his staff received a £19.6 million payout from Manchester United, he can't need the money.

Most of all, football has missed Mourinho's cheery manner and beaming smile to bring a ray of sunshine to the beautiful game.

.......

May I finish with a couple of apologies.

The other day, in the context of the Green Party's pledge to spend £100 billion a year to combat climate change, I said a salient fact was that coal production in China is not far short of 100 times that of coal production in the UK.

After giving my calculator a sharp tap, I discover that Chinese coal production is closer to one thousand times that of the UK.

You may find that difficult to believe. But when it comes to emissions, there's no smoke without Chinese fires.

And you may have seen the other day that I received a couple of gongs at the Midlands Media Awards.

I know, I know. Your immediate reaction was: "What? For this stuff?"

Let me explain by recalling what a celebrated photographer – somebody of the status of Patrick Lichfield or David Bailey, but I can't quite remember who – once said.

He said that for every photo of his published, he threw 99 away (or something like that). So nobody saw the ones that were no good.

The judges at these awards saw one or two carefully selected examples of my work.

My apologies for inflicting the other 99 on you. But please don't grass me up.