Matthew Norman's Media Diary

At last, Kelvin's back on the front line

IT IS with genuine glee that we welcome the return to the front line of that adorable scamp, Kelvin MacKenzie. That cheeky-chappie façade has always masked a sensitive nature (his hobbies include Japanese cinema, the poetry of Sylvia Plath, and Byzantine art) bordering on the brittle, and it has taken ages for Rebekah Wade to persuade him to put his head above the parapet with a permanent column in The Sun.

A sparkling one-off effort last autumn, in which he memorably referred to a woman's buttocks having different postcodes, came and went, and only now has he officially succeeded poor Richard Littlejohn, who still struggles to locate the G-spot of the Daily Mail readership. Whether or not Kelvin's appointment marks a definitive change of stance by The Sun towards Tony Blair, the old boy's debut does suggest a certain democracy in his loathing, Gordon Brown being dismissed as "a foreigner who simply doesn't understand what motivates the majority of this country" (possibly not the exact wording printed in the Scottish edition).

Elsewhere, Kelvin is cruel but hilarious about Heather Mills-McCartney, "the monopod model". The ritualistic attack on France is bemusing, considering that he owns a huge house there, but it's reassuring to find the equally mandatory assault that runs, "the liberal classes who have done so much to damage our country...".

As for the main item, a long account of a row between his girlfriend and the Chelsea goalkeeper Petr Cech over their respective dogs (that ended - and I think Jonathan Pearce would call this an irony - with the former picking up that classic footballer's injury, the snapped cruciate ligament), we wish her well.

God knows, The Sun, so bland and unfocused for so long, needs Kelvin. And those of us among the liberal classes who have done so much to damage our country will look forward to reading him every Thursday, and to synthesising mock disgust towards one of the few people in this ailing industry with any claim on genius.

* From one former editor writing in his old paper to another, and Kelvin's political soul mate Charles Moore. Writing in The Daily Telegraph, Charles began a post-local elections piece by observing: "In British politics, life begins at 40 per cent. In our electoral system, that is the minimum that could possibly win you a majority in the House of Commons." We courteously remind Charles that Labour won its healthy majority just a year ago with a little over 36 per cent. Admittedly, the psephology is unkind to the Tories, but even so, this is the most blatantly duff intro published in a very long time. I hate to sound pious, Charles, but we must do our research, however busy we may be trying to finish our Thatcher biography in time for the funeral. I hope I have no cause to rebuke him for such sloppiness again.

I AM shocked and upset by an attack on the "comedian" Jimmy Carr, as he is styled, by Duncan Campbell in The Guardian. Mr Campbell relates a joke ("joke" to be precise) that Carr reprised from a recent appearance on Loose Ends about the personal hygiene of Gypsies (one for which the BBC unreservedly apologised), and also the displeasure of a member of the audience who heard it at an awards do in Park Lane. Campbell takes a diabolical liberty having a go at Carr in that Charlie Artful way of his, and is asking for a slap. So, if anyone could e-mail to explain what the point to Jimmy Carr might be, and why so many TV executives insist on hiring him, I'll be delighted to pass it on.

THERE IS no news this week of my friend Libby Purves, who remains a hard-to-fancy 125-1 chance for the Desert Island Discs job (the only significant market mover, in fact, is Libby's East Anglian neighbour Charles Clarke, who has backed in to 17-2 co-third favourite of 11). However, thanks to David Garrood for offering an answer to our ancient question of whether the serene majesty of the English language can provide a more depressing 12-word sentence than, "And now on Radio 4, it's time for Midweek with Libby Purves". David nominates an introduction to This World on BBC2: "Olenka Frenkiel presents a sobering investigation into the growing number of women murdered in Guatemala." Fifteen words, in fact, and not quite as spirit-lowering as Libby, but the closest challenger so far.

TREMENDOUS TO hear that fecund vicar's wife Anne Atkins on BBC Radio 4's Thought for the Day, sharing her thoughts on great sacrifices made by women for their principles. One of these days, who knows, this dread foe of pornography and other forms of moral turpitude may sacrifice her income from the column she writes for Richard Desmond's Sunday Express. But not yet.

FINALLY, A new regular feature called Those We Have Loved, in which we consider some of recent history's more memorable columns, will formally begin next week. Until then, here's a taster from the inaugural article, a Daily Mail opinion piece in which Edward Heathcoat-Amory clinically deconstructs the lyrics of "Imagine": "The song opens with the words: 'Imagine there's no Heaven, it's easy if you try'," observed Edward. "So that puts paid to the consolations of faith that have sustained billions of humans throughout history, the soaring churches and amazing works of art that have been inspired by Christianity and Islam..." But that's nothing. Just wait until we get to imagining a world without borders.

m.norman@independent.co.uk