I may be wrong here, but Prime Minster's Questions is intended for members of the House to ask questions of the PM.

What he's been up to, has he invaded any countries and not told us, that sort of thing.

The clue's in the name, the Twitter hash tag #pmq and the title that flashes across the screen on the telly.

Andrew Neil calls it thus - I am to understand - as do journalists political or otherwise, television presenters, politicians, the great unwashed (aka general public), the Speaker of the House, my cat...
Why then pray tell does Call me Dave Cameron seem to struggle to getting a grip on the concept?

I was out for a drink recently when I became intrigued by a conversation just out of my view. The person speaking was loud - and rather full of himself in my opinion - and so caught my attention.

My ears pricked up like a bloodhound at a weekend of hunting near the playing fields of Eton at the words 'All these dolites (sic) driving around in their BMWs while I'm working...' .

I heard a murmur of approval at his indignancy and I wish with all my might I'd made the effort to get off my backside and check out who the orator actually was.

Call Me Dave's problems with women have been well documented, he not only patronises female MPs from the opposition but humiliates those on his own side of the house as well, whilst sporting a schoolboy snigger across his mush.

Bad enough you'd think.

But he's not stopping there - why would he? Dave seems to be moving on to having an "issue" with disabled people as well.
Putting his attack on the income of the disabled and their carers aside, this last week alone he's dropped a couple of heavy hints about his mind set concerning disability.

I approached some Socialist (Worker) Party members on Saturday to express solidarity for the public workers strike. Nice enough people but incredibly earnest with it and one Army & Navy store visit away from wearing military fatigues.
I stumped up for a copy of The Socialist Worker paper and was instantly reminded why it had been such a long time since they'd had a quid off me. Its contents were dry, chest beating and humourless.
Like a pinko version of the Daily Mail.

Even though I'm more likely to win the Booker Prize and get my grubby hands on Kate Moss's modelling contracts than vote Tory, I was nevertheless heartened to hear that Scottish Conservatives' new leader is a woman.
I got to thinking that the spirit of the party north of the border might well be more enlightened than that shown by, say, I don't know, Call Me Dave Cameron and his tittering responses to women at PMQs.
Former journalist Ruth Davidson beat the Scottish Conservatives' deputy leader Murdo Fraser to win the top gig, and understandably enough was keen at the press conference following her victory this week to set out her stall and assert independence from CMD.

Cupcakes are for toddlers' birthday parties, right?
Apparently not.

The current cult of the cupcake dictates us women are expected to squeal with delight at the mere mention of the 'treat'; female friends I respect as sensible and academic, worthy and clever, have started declaring 'Oooh I LOVE cupcakes!' as if all their problems are solved by the sickly creation.

Worshipping the cupcake has grown like a mould.

The Labour Party Conference here in Liverpool still has a couple of days to go and so far feedback about our city from delegates has been overwhelmingly positive, apart from someone on Twitter who mentioned she couldn't get Wi-Fi in one of the rooms in the convention centre, but when she headed advice and budged a bit to the left all was fine.

But there always has to be one, and lo and behold Iain Dale has put his hand up (albeit on the safety of the internet) and torn a nasty strip out of Liverpool.
I won't put a link to his blog here, but if you Google 'ghastly Iain Dale' you'll soon get the picture.

Waterstone's, the UK's biggest chain of bookshops, is to drop its decade long '3 for (the price of) 2' book promotion this month. Authors I have spoken to have been made up at the news, many believing the practice turned books into low-price commodities.
The concept of getting a book for free always sat uneasily with me; if someone has spent a year or more writing, redrafting, sweating and crying over their beloved novel, how mortifying to see it sold for nowt.

I'm a big fan of reading (I blather on about it enough on here) and embrace any initiatives which encourage people who wouldn't normally pick a book, to do so.

But when I heard that background noises and music are to be added to some e-books, I had to check my calendar it wasn't 1st April.

The horrendous idea of e-book firm Booktrack ,the software notes the 'turning' of each page on one's Kindle/e-reader and adjusts the soundtrack accordingly to emphasize action and atmosphere. Releases are available for now just on iPad with other tablet computer versions to follow and is funded by Peter Thiel, a co-founder of PayPal.

Ker-ching, I hope not.

The self-published have grabbed literary headlines since the e-publishing phenomenon kicked off; American John Locke is the main name bandied about - the eighth author anywhere and first self-published to flog million 'copies' via Kindle.

Now we hear about Brit Louise Voss using social media to publicise her 96p e-book, getting it to the top of the Kindle chart.

It sounds so easy, doesn't it?

Pop a few posts on Facebook and you don't have to impress an agent, suffer the indignity of the slush pile, spend all that lolly on stamps.