It’s Friday. I leave Holy Trinity School after a visit; I look up to see two vehicles collide at the Manchester Rd lights. One veers off and collides with a wall. One driver leaps out; the other driver though is stretched out across the front seat. People rush to the vehicle.

Mobile phones are immediately employed. First on the scene is a paramedic in a car then, after 10 minutes, an ambulance. I speak to the uninjured driver who was hit at the lights but quick wittedly steered away from the impact. I give him my contact details as witness. I remark on how a day can change from OK to tragic in a split second.

We await the police. The police station is on the next corner. I phone the police to make sure they are aware but after 25 minutes no police presence apart from an Astra patrol car that turned off to the station. By this time I’m glad to say the injured driver was on his feet. Paramedics tell me traffic police have usually to come from Maghull. The oddity of that with a police station just around the corner struck me. I walk off thinking about it.

It’s now Sunday around 7pm. We (my daughter, her boyfriend and I ) have just left the M1 service station - London bound all of us. I clamber in the back of the two-door Fiesta sharing the seat with luggage. We set off and I am talking, leaning across the seat as the car speeds up. It’s dark and the M1, like most Sunday nights, is very busy. We move to the fast lane and the motorway bends. I’m talking about something. We’re in the fast lane cruising along at 70mph. Suddenly the traffic ahead slows dramatically; I calculate distance and speed in a flash. I know with horrible certainty we are going to crash…and at speed. A second of shock and then the crash. I hit something. My head hurts but my mind is still working. My daughter is crying and in pain in the front seat.

The driver’s airbag has gone off. My daughter’s partner has to climb out of the window to get us out. I am worried about people being mowed down in a daze or cars crashing into us. My daughter is in pain and we escort her to the central reservation; her back hurts badly. Her boyfriend is distraught. A man who says he works for St John’s ambulance appears, He has a warning light on his saloon car and takes charge. He tells me to hold my daughter’s head still and keep her warm.

The woman in the car in front is hurt but is kept in the warmth of her car - not too serious. My head throbs but adrenalin keeps me lucid.

Traffic on the M1 has now come to stop - just a long line of parked vehicles. A solitary ambulance arrives and I am able to fetch key belongings from the car, the front section of which I see is compressed to half size. They are waiting for a second ambulance I hear them say “ten minutes away still ….. not good enough” but eventually police, fire and second ambulance arrive. The traffic starts to move again.

My daughter is trussed up on a stretcher, head supported, with upper back pain. I thank the St John’s man and we go off to Northampton Hospital A&E and X-ray. I thank the ambulance crew, I thank the police when they arrive I thank God when the X-Ray shows no lasting damage to my daughter. I thank the doctors and nurses. I even want to thank the engineers at Ford for making the effort to see that their car rather than its passengers took the first impact.

I am on the phone to my wife, my children, my parents. I get a couple of headache pills from casualty, a check over and as I replay with a ghastly shudder the seconds before impact again and again I marvel that we are all alive…think again of how a day can change horribly in a split second and wonder what more can be done to make driving safer. The flashbacks don’t go and I write this as kind of catharsis.

Why, Frankie Howerd was right!

I’m deeply wounded to hear that a website referred to me as an analogue MP after I attacked the over-use of blackberries and i-phones during the House of Commons proceedings. (See my EDM on this.)

Wounded - because I could be thought a techno geek. I build my own PCs, maintain and set up my office networks, buy books on Linux and hold endless sad conversations about interoperability. I am not a technophobe. I just notice (1) that people sometimes pay more attention to the virtual world in their hand that the real world around them and (2) that sometimes it’s rude to do so (say when talking to real people) and (3) sometimes it’s obsessive and pointless behaviour.

The “Tweetminster” site http://tweetminster.co.uk/ promises to link Westminster to the real world and I do want MPs to have real friends, real debates and real conversations but that is not the same thing as sending random messages to strangers in the virtual world. I question the value and indeed the intrinsic interest of a public running commentary on one’s life - partly because I want people and politicians to have more time for an inner (i.e.non-public) life - reflection, thought, listening, reading etc.

You don’t always get more interesting by talking all the time and there is no reason why tweeting constantly should be any different. I worry about people who can’t anymore just go to the gym, cafe or event without having to tell thousands they’re doing it. Just do it - I say!

For a politician to oppose tweeting I am told by Labour’s twitter czar is like not looking ‘the public’ in the eye but it is the addicted tweeter eyes, glued to their devices, who are I observe least likely to look the people around them in the face.

Tweeting may have a genuine place in show business where adoring fans hang on one’s every word and maybe politics really is after all showbiz for ugly people, but does it get taken more seriously if encoded in instantaneous messages. Had Churchill tweeted at Yalta “Just popping into see Joe Stalin - my what a huge sofa!”, would the event have become more relevant?

Ultimately I suspect that lightning, perpetual communication does not much advance or deepen thought, rather it encourages ill-thought out re-circulation of stock opinion and borrowed expressions. Soren Kierkegaard, as garrulous and self- absorbed philosopher as you could find, said of the mass media - “the vast mass of the people have no opinions on many topics but thanks to the press here they come!” Tweeting - fun though it may be- is instant,undeveloped observation which makes the circulation of opinion easy without noticeably enhancing its critique.

Listen to John being interviewed about this issue on Radio Four’s PM (Thurs, 5th Nov)

Imagine getting to the office at 7.45. You start to write speech, rush off to a breakfast meeting (8.30) about promoting cycling with Jon Snow, move quickly on to a briefing (9.30) on swine flu vaccine where you ask the Chief Medical Officer of England, Sir Liam Donaldson questions about its safety, rush to the clerks office to finalise details of a bill you will be introducing in the Commons, answer e-mail and make some calls, head off to Victoria gardens to be photographed with a gigantic boiled egg for the RSPCA (11.45), head Vback to the Commons only to meet some Southport pensioners who want to be photographed with you outside Parliament.

Then you head into PMQs (12.00) and after that introduce a bill proposing democracy in the local NHS, followed by an important debate on Equitable Life where in frustration you intervene to quiz a prevaricating minister. Heading out eventually, you shoot upstairs to where in a big committee room many seemingly very angry pensioners are launching a Pensioners’ Manifesto. The bell goes and you go back to the Chamber to vote (4.00), brief a colleague about tomorrow’s debate, off to the Public Accounts Committee (they are interrogating the Foreign Office), a quick trip back to the office to pick up mail and messages, discuss with and turn down the Politics Show who want me for a programme on planning and then on to BBC Millbank for a recording of “The Week in Westminster” (5.30.)

Drop in (6.00) on compulsory, weekly meeting of Lib Dem Parliamentary Party as colleagues discuss Legg, women candidates etc but leave 6.30 to attend reception in Speaker’s House in honour of Aung San Suu Kyi. The Speaker and I are both in the All Party Burma Group and excellent speeches are made by Speaker, Foreign Secretary and a brave young woman who contrasts people’s reluctance/ apathy with respect to voting in this country with the passionate but denied desire of Burmese people to vote in free elections. People in Burma know we support them, she says. There are no votes in backing the people of Burma here but its important we keep up pressure on the regime, she tell us. I leave heartened and humbled when the bell goes for another vote and then go off to show my face at an event organised by CRY (Cardiac Arrest in the Young) (7.15))- a charity I support (the Jedi Musical Festival in Southport was for CRY) Pictures of young men and women who had tragically short lives adorn the walls. I race away,get my car and head north. By 11.00 p.m I m driving on the M6 and feeling wasted. I stop for a power nap at the Stafford Service Station. At 1.15 I am home in Southport. 1.30 in bed knowing that I’ve got to be at Stanley High School for school at 9.00. That was Wednesday 21st October.

No time to twitter.

People will have read that Sir Thomas Legg has written to all MPs having conducted an examination and audit of their accommodation and second home costs going back years. Either they were asked for more details, to repay money or told that their expenses raise no issues. Sir Thomas found no issues with my expenses I’m glad to say.

For most MPs it’s better to have a proper audit than allowing the media to present their version of the facts, but some colleagues have identified significant factual errors in the Legg findings and there is unhappiness that Sir Thomas has ruled claims out of order this year which were clearly authorised and validated when submitted in previous years.

Because there has been clear abuse and such a public outcry all MPs feel damned what ever they say. However there is unhappiness that the ‘flippers’ and profiteers seem to have got away more lightly in the Legg enquiry than those who used cleaners too often - I personally do my own cleaning but I take the point.

I am proud though that throughout this horrible saga no single Liberal Democrat MP has been found to be flipping, dodging big capital gains tax or claiming for a second home when their constituency is in London.

When I first became an MP I genuinely wanted to tell people about the experience to share a part of my life because I thought (a) it would interest some and (b) it’s probably best that people know (because few know) how the whole MP business works.

So I wrote little sketches on the web, trying not to be dull. This was back in 2001. I hadn’t heard of the word ‘blog’ then and still don’t care for it. When ‘blogging’ became first a fashion, and then an epidemic, I found it hard to persevere and perversely gave up, stuttering back into action when I was told “its a good way to communicate”.

Media professionals, politicians, public figures, ‘wannabe’ public figures, members of all groups are encouraged to blog and bloggers themselves seem to have a tendency to club up as some kind of fraternity united by this ‘urge to communicate’ - to be out there.

Non-bloggers presumably have a lesser urge, capacity or need to do so.
The blogosphere (the world of bloggers) could unkindly be likened to a hall full of exhibitionists where success is measured by response (hits) obtained. The narrative or some of the narrative of part of one’s life - thoughts, observations, deeds - is put on display for others - and significantly - for those whom one does not know or have a relationship with. It’s a step beyond Facebook. It’s like talking very loudly on a bus.

Bold, confident and showy people do it, anxious, introverted and reserved people don’t. Oddly, people who keep their voices down on the bus do blog - just as normally civil people send rude e-mails and peaceful people show aggression in cars. The medium changes the messaging.

That was the week that was. Seemingly an ordinary opposition day last Wednesday. The Lib Dems had put down a motion calling for a change in policy for Gurkhas wishing to settle in this country. We felt strongly - so did the country - but on these occasion we know the government has got the votes and can summon up the troops. So the debate took place, the points were made, the ministers were unconvincing and, after voting against the Government, I went back to my office thinking that was that - another good idea ground to dust under the government machine. I was scheduled to meet some Gurkhas in a few minutes presumably to commiserate and bemoan government intransigence.

As I walked across Palace Yard I got a text message - the phone bleeped. I looked at it casually. It read “Government defeated”.

There’s a lady who stands in Parliament Square with a megaphone. She’s there every Wednesday and other days as well. I can’t shut the noise out in my office. So I have to listen to her hour after hour, on and on accusing MPs of greed, supporting war and murder, feathering their own nest, being indifferent to human suffering etc. On and on she goes hour after hour, week after week, accusation after accusation. To give you a flavour of what it’s like, I asked Paul, my researcher, to capture some footage on video from my office window.

Does she never want to give it a rest, say something nice, and look on the bright side? Shall I go over to her and say: “look we all agree, you can go home now - job done”?

One thing I am certain about her is that she has no sense of humour and I wonder whether she is at all happy.

MPs this week have been feeling that most of society agrees with her. The expenses issue has come round again. This is partly the fault of some MPs bending the rules and partly the fault of some journalists being hell bent on trying to portray MPs as a venial lot. It’s hopeless to complain about the latter when any point you want to make is undermined by the odd fellow MP exploiting the system. More detail does not necessarily help either. My friend Alistair Carmichael is in the top 10 for expenses. That’s in the papers but who tells the public that he has to fly down every week from Orkney that is nearer Norway than London! To get more facts out there needs more explanation.

Life is simpler with a megaphone.

Happy Easter!

The content of a MP’s mailbag, rather like a woman’s handbag, can contain the most bizarre collection of things. Apart from correspondence from the constituency and about house business, this morning I got invitation to attend a meeting about headache disorders, news of the launch of a new cheese and a leaflet on 666 the Mark of the Beast. On perusing the latter I discovered the producers of this pamphlet identify the Beast with the Catholic Church. As a Roman Catholic myself I was intrigued to learn that I was numbered among the “children of the beast whose father is the dragon which is Satan”.

This was certainly news to me and I toyed with the idea of contacting Bishop A. McKenzie of the Beulah Apostolic Church who had sent me this pamphlet in the hope of further clarification. He has a rather jazzy website http://soul-net.freeservers.com/

Ought I to tell my constituents of my dangerous pedigree? Ought I too introduce Bishop McKenzie to the man who uses up the ink on my fax every week by sending me twenty pages of close type telling me about how MI5 are persecuting him. Ought I to introduce him to the 80-year-old gentleman who believes Southport is run by the Nazis but who more recently has asked me to find him a partner. Or ought I to wonder how people arrive at the views they do and whether anyone knows for sure what’s going on.

What have Ferguson, Benitez and Wenger got to complain about?

Compared to the House of Commons, the refereeing of the Premiership is a model of transparency and clarity. This week we had voting on the Political Parties and Elections Bill - important stuff about the funding and conduct of our democracy. One proposal (amendment) was supported by over 200 MPs. Were we allowed to vote on it?

No, because amendments were so arranged in order that, in the time available, it could not be discussed or voted on.

Then, amazingly, at the end it was decreed that a vote on MPs’ and candidates’ addresses could be voted on. It had not been discussed either.

So why was this allowed?

Pressed to explain the deputy-speaker told us that the speaker does not have to explain. Men of substance leapt up and asked for more explanation, quoted from Erskine May, the parliamentary rule book, pointed out that this had never happened before - all to no avail. It was Mr Speaker’s decision that it should be so. The Deputy Speaker allowed that protestors could write to the speaker.

On the following day, Simon Hughes raised the issue with the Speaker himself now in the chair. Speaker, Michael Martin, gave an unsatisfactory explanation for this change in practice. “But”, said Mr Hughes, “how will honourable members know next time what will and will not be voted on?”

“Ah,” said the Speaker-, “they need only ask me.”

So that’s alright then.

I imagined Graham Poll or Mike Riley explaining to Sir Alex why one offside goal had been allowed and another not.

“The referee does not give explanations “, Mike would say.

“So how do we know when a goal is to be allowed or not”, fumes Sir Alex.

“Just ask me!” says Mike with a knowing wink.

I cant imagine Sir Alex being as easily satisfied as MPs were.

But then it’s only a game; isn’t it?

Dogs seem to have been a theme this week. Even if your most frequent experience is avoiding their deposits or being barked at (or worse still like one of my staff having the tip of your finger bitten off) you have to admit that there is definitely an upside. They can be loyal, affectionate, companionable and a lot of fun and I say that as someone who has never owned a dog.

In the local paper there were people complaining about dogs on the beach and other people, dog-walking people more positively planing to organise a clear up of the beach.

I went to a meeting in a house in Shoreside Birkdale of people who wanted to lobby me about “Dignity in Dying” - where pro-Euthanasia supporters tried to persuade me very amicably that my stance - strongly against - was wrong.

After the debate had gone into the beliefs and arguments the meeting closed when the family dog - a very handsome, big, tail-wagging dog, was let in and was singularly friendly to people regardless of what position they had taken on the big issue.

The conversation in the room turned to dogs - many had them and no-one surprisingly asked me why I thought euthanasia was acceptable for dogs but not for humans. The dog united us all in a feast of tail wagging, coat stroking and nose rubbing.

I am not against ‘dignity in dying’ though I am against euthansasia - and I said we shouldn’t confound them. I suspect, though, that demanding ‘dignity in dying’ given the nature of the process is like demanding ‘dignity in birth’.

Nature humbles us all .

By the way the dog walkers have invited me to join them for the beach ‘poop scoop’. I think I’ve got a previous engagement!