Hector sometimes muses ? during less than scintillating debates in the House of Assembly ? whether politicians synchronise their parliamentary outfits. Does UBP Whip , for example, check to make sure his tie colour doesn't clash with his leader's, ? Does Health Minister call up fellow Cabinet member on a Thursday night to ask: "What're you wearing tomorrow?" Does Mrs. Butterfield reply, in the manner of a moody teenage girl: "I haven't got a thing to put on."

Quite possibly we will never know the answers to such serious and worthy questions, but Hector has noticed some recent evidence of attempts at co-ordination. Shadow Finance Minister turned up a couple of Fridays ago at the House in a fetching canary-yellow skirt suit. Her UBP colleague ? who normally sits in the row behind ? parked himself next to her, wearing a pair of Bermuda shorts and a tie in an identical shade. A coincidence? One might think so, if it wasn't for the fact that the former Premier arrived last Friday in a dramatic white trouser suit worthy of in Saturday Night Fever.

Later in the day, Government backbencher arrived in the very same outfit. Strangely, the two women never appeared in the chamber at the same time, at least while Hector was watching. Either the pair had come across one another outside the House (oh, can you imagine the embarrassment?) and agreed to stagger their appearances or there was only one trouser suit and the party colleagues were sharing. What all this has to do with politics, Hector isn't sure, but pondering it certainly beats listening to debate on the Insurance Amendment Act 2006.

Certain members of the United Bermuda Party really do themselves no favours at times. A week ago ? when the Government slipped its revised proposal on pay increases onto the table in the House of Assembly ? Hector listened sympathetically as outraged Opposition MPs stood up to denounce the timing of the resolution. It was the perfect opportunity for the party to take the moral high ground and question why they had not been given adequate notice of the changes. Several MPs did so, eloquently and appropriately. So what was up to?

The UBP's spokesman on legislative affairs jumped to his feet, made a vague point about the resolution being unconstitutional and then proceeded to verbally abuse the Attorney General, who was watching the proceedings from a chair in the corner of the chamber. Mr. Moniz accused of "waving his hand like a lady" and said he reminded him of "that sissy French tennis coach".

Mr. Moniz then sat down smugly, clearly highly amused by himself, before heading off to the public gallery. A rattled Mr. Mussenden left the chamber, only to re-appear moments later in the public gallery and whisper something in Mr. Moniz's ear. Hector couldn't hear what was said but there was no mistaking Mr. Moniz's response: "Kiss my ass!"

An interesting request, considering his earlier comments. Hector has noticed that Mr. Moniz rarely has much to say of note in the House. So why, when he does stand up, does his chatter consist of nasty, silly insults and archaic terminology? He'd be far better served sticking to the politics ? that is, after all, what he's being paid for.

Hector generally prefers drinking to fishing, but there has been the odd occasion when he has cast his rod into Bermuda's turquoise waters and caught a snapper or two. Now, thanks to the new Fisheries Amendment Act 2006, he'll have to get a licence from Government if he wants to enjoy such innocent pleasures in future.

Failure to do so could result in a hefty fine of $25,000. Well, that's the theory anyway. But as the eagle-eyed independent senator noted on Wednesday, the same offence attracts a paltry penalty of just $100 under another new law ? the Maritime Offences Procedure Act 2006. As Sen. Hughes rightly noted of the anomaly: "It seems a bit of a nonsense."

Hector thinks getting a fishing licence sounds like an awful lot of bother. He wonders if it might be possible, please, for him to be prosecuted under the latter legislation the next time he's caught red handed with a sneaky lobster or bream.

Hector's wife and her friends often declare themselves fed up with the men in their lives. Now it seems even the Island's canine population feels the same way. Note the weekly press release sent out by the SPCA to supporters informing them of the latest waifs and strays up for adoption. Currently in residence is "Jack, a small terrier mix who is quite weary of men."

Premier , a former ad man, has always been able to conjure up a PR stunt as a matter of professional pride. But Hector thinks catching the Number 8 bus to work this week went just a little bit too far. Hector hasn't forgotten Mr. Scott was the minister who pushed through larger gas guzzling limos for Cabinet members so it's a bit cheeky to then come all over green for the day when you are normally motoring in a big Peugeot while the rest of the plebs queue up for the next pink and blue arrival which may or may not have a seat still vacant.

The timing of the bus ? at 9.15 ? was of course nicely timed to avoid the hour-long gridlock most West End commuters endure. And, in a major contrast to the previous one, the Premier's bus was surprisingly empty when he stepped on and handily dropped in the exact change. The media were also forced to shell out for the privilege of covering the whole charade. Surprisingly they weren't sitting in the back, which, as we all know, is where the troublemakers normally hang out.

Proceedings at plea court were even more bizarre than usual this week. Particularly when a lady by the name of Pebbles arrived to help translate for two Portuguese men who found themselves on the wrong side of the law. "Is that Pebbles like the Flintstones?" inquired senior magistrate before asking the good lady to take the oath. "No," corrected the translator. "It's pebbles like on a beach."