BBC South came knocking at the door last week wanting to know whether I was going to stand for election as Mayor of Brighton and Hove - and what happens if I win! Now there's a thought for Lord Bassam.

The South of Westminster television crew reckoned some kind soul had put my name forward for mayor should Labour abolishes the present system in which the job goes to the party faithful.

I rather fancy the idea of standing as an independent, elected directly by the people and free of the party machine.

What about those hotshot mayors in American cities who run everything - police, fire brigade, city hall, schools, even Superman!

First thing I would do is take Brighton's senior police officer by the ear, metaphorically speaking, stand in Churchill Square and ask him why I have lived in Brighton ten years without ever seeing a copper on the beat.

"Okay, Chief," I'll say, "you have three months to produce policemen walking on the streets or its back to the Orkneys, or wherever you come from. Don't talk to me about resources. Just get on with it."

Let's make Brighton the brightest town in Britain. For starters we'll rebuild the West Pier without waiting another 20 years for other people's handouts. It's a disgraceful heap of rubble. Get shot of it. Now.

Slap a compulsory purchase order on Embassy Court, the worst eyesore on the South Coast, rehouse the occupants, pull it down and start again. Brighton Station is being refurbished, but must it look like something out of Dante's Inferno for another five years?

Our schools need help, too. You read here a couple of weeks ago how Neil Hunter, head teacher at Blatchington Mill comprehensive, has to go cap in hand to local businessmen to try to raise funds to turn a school assembly hall into a theatre.

It's an outrage, isn't it? Why should a person of his importance in the community have to spend hours running around as a charity fund-raiser?

Ican hear the official putdowns already. You're exceeding your powers. Don't tell us how to run our department. It can't be done, old boy.

Codswallop. The mayor represents the people, the highest estate of all. I've been studying Mayor Rudy Giuliani's administration in New York City.

There are hotlines giving the public direct access to every corner of his kingdom. Got a problem? Give us a call.

When I was in New York a few months ago taxi drivers protesting against fares being frozen threatened to cause the biggest traffic jam in history.

"Do that," said Mayor Rudy, "and we'll confiscate your cabs." They were back at work within the hour.

Yes, I think I'd like to be mayor.

HERE'S WHAT I WANT TO KNOW, JOE

HOW could you be so stupid, Joe Ashton? The Labour MP is an old mate of mine, so I have a personal interest in the saga of his lost hours in a Northampton massage parlour.

Our two families were laughing and joking over dinner at Wheelers in The Lanes not long ago and now Ellen is wondering what to say to Joe's wife, Margaret. Several things puzzle me.

For instance, how come Thai massage parlours have been operating for years in Northampton and yet police happened to stage a raid when just one client - Joe Ashton - was on the premises?

Why was it necessary for police with sledgehammers to storm in and batter down doors when nobody was charged and the only discernible offence was an out-of-date visa?

Since the massage parlour and the girl never knew Joe was a prominent MP, can we blame him for assuming police tipped off the newspapers?

Whatever the answers, Joe will get little sympathy from public or Press.

That's a real tragedy when you consider that just about every newspaper was trying to poach Joe's services when he was working for me and later voted columnist of the year. His writing was famed for Yorkshire grit and common sense.

Forty years of service to the Labour party, Sheffield Wednesday FC and Fleet Street, and now he'll always be remembered as the MP in the massage parlour. What a waste.

WHAT'S THE POINT?

WWHAT does it all mean? Why are our youngsters mutilating themselves by piercing various parts of the anatomy with silver studs? Even Zara Phillips, 17-year-old daughter of the austere Princess Anne, has one in her tongue. My son Dan turned up for an interview at the University of Sussex with twin studs above his left eye. Get 'em out, I said. He consulted his sister-in-law, a professor herself, and she reckoned he had more chance of a place with them in. Sure enough, he was accepted. Has the world gone barmy?

SEEING IS BELIEVING BUT NOT QUITE PC

READER Peter Granville objects to my description of Mrs Ivor Caplin as 'an elegant blonde'. Politically incorrect, I suppose. Sorry, comrade, I was always taught as a reporter to describe what I see. It brings the reader closer to the subject. But I hear what you say.

Should I have the pleasure of reporting you, Mr Granville, I'll say you have a face like the back of a bus.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.