Shamed MP admits: "Expenses claims were legitimate".
By staff reporter P. O'rno

Westminster was reeling at the news this lunchtime that Wayne Kerr, the Labour MP for Trousers and Ankles had submitted a legitimate expenses claim for "a hot lunch whilst working on a Sunday" and "a visit to Timney's cinema, Redditch".

Appetite

Kerr admitted in a statement released to the press: "like many members of the House, I have a voracious appetite. If I am not sated quickly enough, I can become restless. This can cause much distress to my wife and my fellow backbenchers."

Films

As part of the Culture and Sport select committee, the MP for Trousers and Ankles justified his visit to the notorious cinema in Redditch as "research into alternative media experiences."

Electoral problems

The shamed MP has one of the smallest majorities in the commons and colleagues say that his enjoyment of the "finer things in life" may put him on a collision course with Commons authorities, which prefer such activities to be carried on within the confines of the Palace of Westminster.

Browned off

A spokesperson for the government said "Wayne is doing a remarkable job in his job as an MP, he claims expenses and votes when the Whips tell him to."

Mr Kerr's net worth is GBP 44,578 (minus expenses).

Is there any more that a pen owner must cope with?
(Exclusive to all newspapers)

Yes, it's true. After months of soul searching and consideration I have finally decided to do it.

I am throwing away my old pen.

For months I have agonised with the decision, but finally I have decided: enough is enough. I can no longer accept this shoddy treatment at its hands. The pen must go!

From the moment the pen, who I shall call for the purposes of this article, Cardamom, came into my life he has been the most exquisite companion. For almost fourteen years, my happy, iridescent Cardamom linked happily with my hand and, through the medium of paper, he allowed me to pour forth free flowing wordage until I was spent with motherly goodness.

Then things started to change.

I noticed that Cardamom had begun hanging round with the wrong sort of writing utensil: felt-tips, biros, even pencils (propelling and non-propelling) - I was horrified!

Plaintively, I complained to my husband, Malcolm. At first he chided me for my concern - "pens, will be pens," he said.

It was only when he came home one evening covered in red ink and carrying a fluorescent highlighter that I knew that the happy days of Cardamom and me were at an end.

From that day on, I was unable to keep Cardamom under control. Forever I found myself trailing blue ink toward the margin; sometimes my cuffs were smudged with ink. On one occasion, I discovered the word "pottery" written on my hand - it was obviously Cardamom's doing.

So, after endless hours of soul searching and conversations with my agent and publisher, I have decided that I must ask Cardamom to leave.

It will be painful, I know, but it must be done.