OVER the past few weeks, you won’t have escaped the escalating war of words in this paper about car parking charges in South Norfolk.

However, it has taken Diss mayor Simon Olander defence one of the town’s district councillors to hit the nail on the head when it comes to what really is behind the battle of the meters: Playschool Parliament.

The Diss Express postbag and email inbox have been inundated with missives from local political parties bitching about each other, while not actually focussing on what the people they supposedly represent want.

In my opinion, local government should be just that – local. Leave it to the big boys and girls in the House of Commons to make the major changes, while insulting each other in increasingly inventive ways.

Thankfully, South Norfolk has an MP who does listen to his constituents as many of you will be aware from his regular column in the Diss Express.

Unfortunately, some of his Tory colleagues at the district council have become increasingly involved in oneupmanship with their Lib Dem counterparts.

If they want to know what the residents of South Norfolk want, why not ask them through all media, including surveys through the letter box, local newspapers, radio and the internet?

By doing that we wouldn’t have the rather ridiculous row over the car parking charges.

Instead the district would be pushing for cheap and all-encompassing public transport which would not only help put a stop to the parking fee debate but also make South Norfolk more environmentally friendly and help businesses to boot.

Fraser McKay

There are few things that surprise me in the soup opera world of football but Kevin Keegan's return as Newcastle United manager was one of the exceptions.

Nick Wells

At last, something good has come out of the inquest into the death of Princess Diana – the skewering of her so-called "rock" Paul Burrell.
The former butler has made an industry out of his association with the royal household and turned it into a damn good living.
But would a real "rock" reveal the angry exchanges between the princess and her mother that the inquest has heard this week.
A real rock would have known them for what they were: words said in temper that had no bearing on the princess' death, and kept them to himself.
Mr Burrell may not be the only one to blame in that, however. What were the lawyers doing in asking for them, and the coroner in allowing them to be heard by the jury? This was tittle-tattle, not evidence.
Mr Burrell was deservedly alone in his embarrassment, however, when, having hinted at a big secret he and the princess shared, he was unable to come up with a shred of proof, even though overnight he had been packed off to his home where he said he had papers that would confirm his story.
The newspapers, when he returned to the inquest with nothing of any account, enjoyed his discomfort: "Loyalty? This man wouldn't know how to sell it" shouted one headline.
Another report said: Mr Burrell complained again of his ordeal under questioning. "Quite frankly, it's been horrid," he said. Good. Let's hope it gets horrid for him every time he attempts to earn even more money by inflating his importance to the princess.
As for the conduct of the rest of the players at the inquest, they might do well to reflect on what they are really there to achieve.
It is a serious, and hopefully final, inquiry to establish how the Princess died; it should not be a place where two sons hear that their grandmother called their mother a whore.

Martin Throssell

IT only feels like yesterday that I sat and composed my farewell piece for the Diss Express.
But four months later, I am back and enjoying every minute of it.
Yes, the job has changed (I have replaced Mark Lord as chief reporter) and I now have a desk with a lovely view overlooking the Mere but apart from that, everything seems to have remained reassuringly similar.
I have spent the summer chasing tabloid
tip-offs and tracking down the friends and relatives of Tracey from Big Brother.
When the Skycopter came over a Cambridgeshire murder scene, I could not help but stop and stare.
I pitched up at Trinity College before first light to catch the revellers from the famous May Balls and interviewed a man who had been hiccupping non-stop for five months.
There were stories about ASBO dogs and
pub-going ponies, medieval weddings and grown men who liked dressing as little girls.
But I missed the grass-roots element of the job – building relationships with people and hopefully making a difference in the community.
Making cups of tea in the office kitchen on my second day back, I felt like I'd never been away. The banter is just as risque and the toilets just as cold. No more girly conversations over humous and salad – I am back to the pasty and crisp consuming
mostly-male office.
You might think my decision was crazy, but I am looking forward to running the Diss Express newsdesk and rediscovering the local area.
It's true what they say – you don't know what you've got until it's gone.

Catherine Morris, Chief Reporter