Tony Blair has been explaining the extent to which religious faith should be allowed to intrude upon matters of state, to a bunch of God botherers in Westminster Cathedral. It's a tough call, apparently.

Too much religious zeal and you end up with those awful bearded people and their backpacks murdering scores of people on the London Underground. Too little and you do nothing at all in defence of your convictions. The third way – a moderate and consensual Christian understanding – leads to nothing more problematic than the occasional invasion of sovereign states, civil war and the deaths of at least 200,000 people. This is the thing with religious faith: you have to be reasonable; don’t take it too far. That seemed to be the message.

But it was not the message when Tony Blair was in office. Back then it was – if you remember – “We don’t do God.” In an attempt to explain away this little non-sequitur, Blair complained that if you went on about God to the public, they would think you even weirder than Ruth Kelly and the Milibands put together and wouldn’t vote for you.

In other words, Tony believed in God but not with sufficient conviction or fervour to allow the voters to know that he believed in God. The creator of the universe was an embarrassing encumbrance whom the prime minister was forced to take around with him, perhaps in his back pocket like one of those long-haired plastic trolls that infant-school children once carried about. He would be retrieved from the pocket only once in a while, to offer a quiet but enthusiastic endorsement of some policy Tony was about to embark upon, and then be put back, very quietly, while nobody was looking.

We know now that Tony spoke to God occasionally, because he admitted as much in a BBC interview after his defenestration. Given everything else we now know about Tony's relationship with God, I suspect that these conversations were a little one-sided. Certainly they never seemed to involve God saying, no, you smug idiot, do that and it will be a disaster, believe me.

Instead, God always seemed to play a mildly encouraging role, undoubtedly an important and influential deity, but always knowing His place. He was there for Tony to say, yes, mate, that’s right; I wish I’d thought of that, at every single juncture. Apparently God never said Tony had got it wrong, never cautioned him against a particular course of action.

Blair was asked if he regretted any decision he’d taken at all. He thought deeply for a while and then said, nope, none at all. He might, in retrospect, have got things wrong – but (and here’s the thing) they weren’t decisions that were wrong at the time. They were only proved to be wholly wrong later. This was the remarkable thing about Tony Blair’s address: a total and utter lack of humility, of apology. Think of it: 10 years and not a single regret, not a thing that he regrets having done. Does that strike you as likely for a devout Christian?

It seems to me that the difference between Blair’s relationship with God and that of the Islamic suicide bombers against whose religious extremism he frequently railed is nuanced.

At the best we might say that the suicide bombers believe they are commanded to commit certain actions by their God, while our former PM committed himself to certain actions and was fortunate enough to receive God’s affirmation for them. Either way, the people on the receiving end of those actions were well and truly screwed. Either way, God has a good case for libel.

A law firm in the city of London has banned its staff from wearing fishnet stockings, because employees find them “distracting”. This has provoked a furious debate among lawyers – and the decision may well rebound upon the firm in court. As everybody knows, almost all High Court judges wear fishnet stockings, garters and spiky leg restraints under their voluminous robes, and one suspects that they will not take kindly to the implied slur.

I assume – although it is far from clear – that in this particular case the firm intended to target women, though, rather than men. In fact I would bet that the firm in question had one particular woman in mind, some minxy legal temptress wafting about the office dressed as a high-class call girl and sending the firm’s collective blood pressure through the roof.

Lawyers, including judges, tend to be drawn from a class of society that is famous for its tormented and repressed sexuality. I reckon that simply banning this slapper from wearing fishnets will not remotely do the job – a mere glimpse of female ankle is enough to send most lawyers hobbling to the lavatory.

She will end up dressed in a burqa and barred from using the same lifts as her male colleagues.

When sat nav lets you down

Introducing the Spencer girls – the modern kind of Chelsea supporter. Long-standing connections to the club and the area, salt-of-the-earth types and – you have to say – as bright as the brightest button in a big bright button shop.

One of Earl Spencer’s three lissom daughters and a chum booked a taxi to take them from the family estate in Northamptonshire down to Stamford Bridge for the game against Arsenal. Through a technical misunderstanding the driver instead took them due north to the Yorkshire village of Stamford Bridge, 230 miles from London and full of quite the most awful northern-type people.

It is not known whether the girls spent time wandering the village, asking people for directions to the Fulham Road and wondering why none of the cafes would sell them a, uh, skinny latte, okay? Perhaps they are still there now, forlornly mewing at people with whippets.

A year or so ago Kitty, the eldest daughter, was described by the magazine Tatler as Britain’s “most eligible” young lady, a position arrived at more on account of her social class and embonpoint than her route-finding abilities, one presumes. So, if you see her wandering the streets of your home town, puzzled and lost, it may be time to make your move.

It’s enough to try the patience of a supermodel

Naomi Campbell should have known better: she had been warned, after all. There are big signs all over Heathrow airport saying: “Please don’t batter the staff, no matter how stupid, arrogant, obstructive and unhelpful they will undoubtedly be.”

Ms Campbell was arrested at terminal 5 when representatives of Britain’s most useless company, British Airways, revealed that one of her bags had been lost before her flight had even taken off.

Naomi apparently didn’t do what the rest of us would do, which is sink back into her seat, mutter, “Thank you very much for the information,” and then start sobbing. Instead she is said to have thrown a strop and, when BA evicted her from the flight – with much sanctimony, one suspects – to have had a go at the coppers too. Good for her.

Everything at Heathrow militates against the customer; passengers are treated with an absolute contempt, as if they were a tiresome and unnecessary impediment to the smooth running of the airport. Complain in even the mildest tones and some self-righteous uniformed hag will caution you for being “abusive” and call for security to sort you out. Perhaps we all need to understand a little less and kick, punch and spit a little more.

Why won’t Jack Straw agree to appear on BBC’s Question Time any more? I am informed that he has developed an irrational aversion to the programme, refusing even plaintive requests to appear.

Perhaps it is similar to the aversion that afflicts him whenever he is faced by a woman in a burqa at his constituency surgery; apparently he simply screams and locks himself in a cupboard and won’t come out until the woman has stripped off a bit.

This is all a big problem for new Labour because the BBC always wants a government minister on its flagship interactive politics programme and is too often reduced to using Alistair Darling, who is not always terribly interesting, or Douglas Alexander, who too closely resembles the retarded barkeeper Moe from The Simpsons.

Turn on that patio heater, rev up that 4x4 – the world needs your help to counteract the latest threat to its existence: global cooling. Scientists are now saying the entire world will be colder this year, for reasons beyond my comprehension. So the polar bears are safe for a few more months, then: praise the lord.

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