Last week I realised the uncharismatic John Major, leader of the UK's Tory party, was really in trouble. I was walking down the sunny side of Whitehall, to catch my train at Charing Cross. The route took me past Downing Street, and, as I drew level, I saw the usual group of sightseers gradually moving aside, to let the gates open for a large black car. For a moment I thought about crossing over to gawk, but decided against it. Half a dozen paces on, I realised I could now truthfully say... John Major? I wouldn't cross the street to see John Major...
(From the "Rest" of RHF)