An inquiry.

Ah, Saturday - that day of bountiful nothingness and rest. Well, not nothingness - sleep is not nothing, it's a somethingness that affords rest and relaxation and recuperation. And catching up with all the stuff you've missed on telly this week. In many ways, every day is a Saturday for me. Although you run out of things to recuperate from after a while. My dad's PC thing is marvellous, though - I watched four episodes of Gilmore Girls yesterday, I could feel my ass getting fatter.

I watched Tony Blair on the news in the morning, having his nice chat with those lovely folks from the Iraq Inquiry. It still irritates me when I tune in and see the backdrop they've got up behind the panel members, as if that was the first and most important order of business, sorting out the logo.

It was ultimately just a wee chat, though - Blair was having none of it, as if he was suddenly going to turn round and say 'you know what? You got me chaps, I was having everyone on the whole time. Slap on the cuffs, boys.' I don't get inquiries - what's the point? It's more political bluster - Gordon Brown started an inquiry into Iraq so that he could go into the election saying that he has started an inquiry into Iraq. Nothing will come of it - if it was illegal, then there should be a trial. If it wasn't illegal, then it should just pass solemnly into the history books. We all make morally queasy choices, but surely it's better to learn from them and move on? Nobody gains anything from monkey theatre.

But what do I know? I spend my days taping things and watching things. And pondering such weighty matters as whether we need to find a new word for taping - since tapes went well out of fashion with the millennium bug and all...