I DON'T want to sound like a lentil-eating, Guardian-reading, yoghurt-knitting Leftie, but was it really necessary for Metropolitan Police marksmen to shoot dead Mark Saunders, the troubled young lawyer who started taking pot shots at no one in particular from his £2 million Chelsea flat?
I ALWAYS laugh when I hear that Britain has dispatched electoral observers to some dim and distant shore to keep an eye on the voting habits of a bunch of former colonials.
DO YOU ever feel you've woken up in a parallel universe where it's April Fool's Day every day? It seemed like that on Wednesday, St George's Day, when I opened my super soaraway Sun to read that those irritating Europeans had split the country into three Euro territories.
A FEW weeks ago I wrote about the plethora of so-called authorities allowed to legally spy on us - all in the name of national security - by intercepting our post, reading our emails and tapping our phones.
AFTER THE humiliation that was the much-vaunted opening of Terminal 5 at Heathrow, it took the debacle of the Olympic Torch procession to restore a bit of national pride. And didn't we do it well?
ACCORDING TO a survey carried out on behalf of the Mental Health Foundation, one in three of us has a close friend or family member who struggles to control their anger.
FIRST WE had the McCanns and missing Maddy: nice, middle class professionals, a massive media campaign, and God knows how many millions flowing into the appeal fund.
