Why are so many otherwise sensible folk going Green?

It may seem unkind to pick on Greens when there are far more sinister (BNP) and nuttier (UKIP) forces out there, but it is worrying that so many otherwise sensible folk think Green is the way to go.

In an unscientific survey in Holyrood magazine, luminaries such as Richard Holloway and Clive Fairweather are said to be toying with the Greens, and the party is polling well in Scotland and has a good chance of winning a seat.

People who come out as Green are signalling their estrangement from their traditional allegiances and at the same time declaring that they still care (about what, is vague). But Greens as a political organisation are not some benign consensus; they are what Michael Howard might call "extreme". They would end fuel subsidies and put up the price of petrol whether there was an oil crisis or not, because they are anti-car. They would increase the price of food because they would introduce such stringent restrictions on its means of production and its method of transport. They would ban lorries from the roads. (It would be okay if they banned lorry drivers.)

Greens are single-issue fringe-dwellers; they don’t have proper economic policies. They are championed by animal-loving dress designers such as Stella McCartney and tofu-for-brains actors like Jude Law. Jude, apparently, is strongly against genetic modification (presumably of food). He is prepared to slash crops. He wants a world that his children can grow up in and where there is decent food they can eat. Extraordinary.

If people wish to live greener lifestyles, they can do so. They can recycle their bath water, reduce loo-flushing and install rain harvesters on their roofs. An environmentally alert Irishman called Donnachadh McCarthy does all of these and has written a book, Saving the Planet Without Costing the Earth, to expound his theories. His household waste amounts to one carrier bag a month.

Good for him. There is nothing offensive (bar the smells) about personal green behaviour. But why politicise it?

I CAN’T see Scots falling for the alleged charms of Robert Kilroy-Silk, UKIP candidate, but he should carry a government health warning nonetheless. For anyone who didn’t witness his foam-flecked, swivel-eyed performance on Newsnight a couple of days ago, be warned: this man is dangerous. He made John Redwood look rational.

There is something dodgy about celebrities crossing over into politics because (a) it proves they are egocentric maniacs and (b) witless members of the public might think it’s a good idea to back them on the basis that they liked their last film/TV programme/hairstyle.

If I mention Sean Connery or Arnold Schwarzenegger, you will know what I mean.

In the case of Kilroy-Silk (astonishingly, a former Labour MP) it’s even scarier. Here is a man who has had to enlist the political skills of Joan Collins to get taken seriously on the podium. And here is a man who, in his previous job, made an entertainment out of people’s misery.

He stands on a platform which seeks withdrawal from the EU and an end to "overcrowding", yet thousands of Tories are thinking of defecting. Have they all gone completely mad?

DADS don’t always have it easy in the home. The Reader’s Digest report last week, which found that mothers did better than fathers in 35 out of 36 parenting categories, must have hurt. From communicating with children to helping out with the homework, mums are way ahead, and only in the car do dads excel.

In my house, I try to compensate for this admittedly justified bias by encouraging my daughters to appreciate every little effort their father makes. A school shoe shined here, a PE shirt burnt there, nothing must go unappreciated.

Sadly, it doesn’t seem to be working. The youngest girl has forbidden boys (she means dads) to enter the pink zone that is her bedroom, and outside the eldest girl’s room this morning we discovered the following curt notice: "No boy’s. and no sisters. you are aloud to come in if I say you can but bells [her best friend] can come in all the time."

I’ll have to have a word with her about her punctuation.

WHILE the world of tennis rejoices at the incredible achievement of Tim "I will win" Henman in reaching the semi-finals of the French Open, the rest of us despair.

Henmania usually transfixes Britain towards the end of June when Wimbledon fortnight is under way. Then we have to endure the speculation over an unlikely British triumph, the painful dissection of Tim’s tortured "genius", and the rib-tickling spectacle of Tim’s tantrums. By the end of Wimbledon, when someone other than Tim snatches his crown, most of us are hugely relieved it is all over for another year.

Now this. What if he wins the French Open? Imagine the hysteria. Imagine listening to Annabel Croft on the radio every morning. Imagine a whole month of Henmania.

But he won’t win ... will he?