The former archbishop, waded in with his ecclesiastical hobnailed boots while telling Gavin Esler, on Newsnight, of the dialogue he has had with the Islamic world.

“Muslim leaders are not afraid to talk to me about western excesses,” said Carey. “They have expressed their great condemnation of practising homosexuality in the church, particularly in the United States. I hear those criticisms. They are rightly made.”

In an echo of the newspaper article that lost Kilroy-Silk his job, Carey said in a lecture earlier last week that Islamic culture was authoritarian and had contributed little to world culture for 500 years.

He insists: “I’m a friend of Muslims. I know many of them by name.”

Perhaps, but they probably won’t be inviting him round to celebrate the end of Ramadan.

How to avoid Redwood’s blunder with a hen and a haddock

The Welsh Labour conference, which ended in Llandudno yesterday, is always a tense couple of days for English-speaking MPS. You never know when you might be expected to sing the Welsh national anthem. Remember former Tory Welsh secretary John Redwood’s embarrassed effort? Luckily, Newport West MP Paul Flynn has the answer. He has a cribsheet on his website that offers the Welsh words — Me hen Wlad fy Nhadau — in phonetic form. So sing along now, everybody: “My hen laid a haddock, one hand oiled a flea.” Or join in the rousing chorus: “Dad! Dad! Why don’t you oil Auntie Glad?”

• Otis Ferry, the son that Bryan Ferry seems to have named after a lift company, is to become the country’s youngest hunt master. The long-time country sports lover will lead the South Shropshire from May 1. According to Otis, 21: “It’s a bit like being a football manager.” Oh yes, if only Gérard Houllier had a hungry pack of hounds at his disposal, Liverpool might still be in the Uefa Cup.

  Gadaffi finds ‘Isratine’ cure for Middle East headache

  As they nibbled on olives in his desert tent, did Colonel Gadaffi and Tony Blair discuss the Libyan leader’s adventurous plan to bring peace to the Middle East? In a triumph of optimism over experience, the colonel’s official website says Israel and the Palestinians should forget their differences and merge. He’s even thought of a name: Isratine. Run, presumably, by Ariel Arafat.

  Isratine sounds more like something you’d rub into a fungal complaint, or perhaps a painkiller. Still, it might just work. Imagine the advertising campaign. A rugged Libyan leader sits in his tent in the desert, clutching his head and reaching for a tablet. Seconds later, he is all smiles as the voiceover insists: “Tense, nervous political headache? Nothing acts faster than Isratine.”