Expenses Spared – not to mention a few own goals

Once upon a time I was dangerously interested in politics, so much so I even considered becoming an MP.

I’ve always prided myself on having an anorakish knowledge of all things Parliamentary. Show me a politician I can name their constituency within a second; give me Cabinet member – or their shadow – and I’ll give you their potted biography; in fact my head’s so stuffed with political trivia I get lobbyists inviting me to pub quizzes in Westminster.

But of late my interest in politics has waned. So much so that the sum total of my political activity involves shouting abuse at BBC’s Question Time and – with deep misgivings - voting.

Long gone are the days of my wanting to ask deep and penetrating questions in the House of Commons. My dreams of bringing down a Government with an incisive contribution to a debate on disability policy have evaporated… They did so shortly after I realised I would never play football for England.

You probably missed media coverage of my retirement from International Football just before the last World Cup? The way I saw it was there was no point in making myself available if Mr Eriksson continued to overlook my obvious talents. Even in the latter part of my career I still fantasised of being used as an impact player to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory with only 10 minutes to go.

To add insult to injury these skills were never even called upon by any of the 92 football league clubs either. If Messrs Ferguson, Benitiez or Barnes happen to be reading this, you might like to know that I have not yet formally called an end to my playing career. I remain available as a squad player. In these days of Bosman one has to be flexible and I still believe I can come on and transform victory into defeat. I’m that effective. Yet to date the phone has not rung, every team from Arsenal through to Yeovil have ignored my role as a futility player.

I digress.

I realised that I was not cut out to be a politician for one essential reason: I am appalling at claiming expenses.

Whenever I go to collect a newly-cleaned suit from “Fresh as a Daisy”, the Greek man who runs it usually hands back an assortment of treasures I had left in my pockets: old hearing aid batteries; biros; dry-cleaned rail tickets and £5 notes. I suppose it is a form of legal money laundering – albeit not the sort usually practiced by the criminal fraternity.

My wife gathers up all washed and unwashed receipts up and (feeling like Ronnie Corbett now) volunteers advice on how I should maybe claim some of them back. I’ve a hunch this is a gender thing. Men keep things: football programmes, rail tickets, old socks, etc because it takes us back to our historical role in hunter-gatherer societies. When woolly mammoths ruled the world it was our nature to collect the items that would sustain us through the harsh times ahead. The odd football programme or three week old Sunday Times are direct throwbacks to the flayed Pachyderm carcasses we’d keep at the back of the cave in bygone days – she wouldn’t have been complaining then.

My wife’s refusal to understand this is an oppressive denial of my male gender inheritance is it not? However without her tireless work anyone investigating my political expenses claims would not find redaction a problem, more the need to spend a great deal of time trawling through the dry-cleaned scraps of paper in my top drawer. Even the Daily Telegraph might find this less like an investigative journalism assignment and more like an exploration of a Tracey Ermin work in progress.

Then again maybe I’d be a very cheap to run type of politician: zero expenses, no duck houses or the like.

So Football and Politics will have to wait until another life I suppose. Let’s face it neither would compare to the thrill a minute, white knuckle ride that is the rail industry. Mind you, this job takes you to some interesting places.

Last week I was atop the Telecom Tower rubbing shoulders with the great and mighty of the disability world, listening to Harriet Harman talking about the Equality Bill. After hearing her analysis I have mixed feelings about what is proposed.

Equality legislation is a great thing when it makes good laws. However Harriet’s line was that the new proposed Equality legislation is a tool to change the country to a specific political agenda - to act as a vanguard. How would this be achieved? By more monitoring? By more reporting?

Sometimes people confuse measuring with doing. In the case of the proposed Equality legislation Ms Harman wants to be seen as an emissary for change. So the important point for her is not necessarily what lasting impact the legislation achieves, but the messages it sends out. The Public Sector Disability Equality Duty sent out a similar message but local libraries still don’t have enough sub-titled DVDs, refuse collectors still block pavements with wheelie bins and councillors still hold surgeries in inaccessible buildings.

This is a curious approach to law-making and could give rise to all sorts of interesting legislation. Government could introduce a Smiling Bill, a ‘Cheer up things could be worse Bill’ and a ‘Of course your bottom doesn’t look big in that’ Bill.

Alongside the legislation there would need to be new Government Departments: The Department for Unrelenting Happiness with responsibility for the Smiling Act; The Commission for Facial Equality charged with monitoring the efficacy of the ‘cheer up’ legislation and a new Government Department – The Department of Bigger Mirrors could be set up for the Bottom Act. Overnight lives wouldn’t be transformed so much as deluded - the messages more important than the actual affect.

Maybe, just maybe, there is still the possibility of a Parliamentary career… Of course, if I became an MP, I would be tempted to introduce a Private Members Bill called the ‘I can play for who I like’ Act. This would enable me to play for any football team in the world and demand any salary I wanted (not to mention my image rights). The message it would send out would be one of hope against obvious lack of talent. Surely only the most cynical people would point out to me that the path to hell is paved with good intentions? ‘Until next time.