The Third Leader: Wish you were here

The search is on for a tourism chief for the Falkland Islands. On the face of it, this might seem a challenging, even unrewarding position: the islands tend to be fixed in the public imagination, for good reason, as dour, forbidding, and a long way from anywhere except ice and Argentina.

In fact, they have a surpassing, if uncompromising, beauty, and a feel of the Highlands about them, one that has already achieved disunion. The weather can be bleak, but, between showers, the light has an invigorating clarity. The wildlife is remarkable - albatross, seals, dolphins, the splendidly named Falkland Flightless Steamer Duck, and, of course, penguins.

One chore for the tourism chief will be continually explaining that, no, contrary to stubbornly embedded legend, the little black and white fellows do not fall over backwards when an airplane flies overhead. Other recurrent concerns will include the large number of landmines left over from the war, and checking to see that not too many young single Argentinian men seem anxious to visit all at the same time.

All in all, then and though, there are many more thankless tasks. One thinks of, say, explaining to Jade Goody, arguing with Jose Mourinho, parsing George Bush, working for Naomi Campbell, keeping up with David Cameron, picking Shane Warne's slider, or running the Home Office.

Comparisons with that last are particularly beguiling. The total number of islanders is, for example, about the same as the current estimate of absconders at large over here, and there are only three flights a week. Three flights a week! I'd go for it, Doctor.