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Labour nationalises Rod Stewart's railway

THE government has brought Rod Stewart’s model railway into public ownership despite the star’s protests, it has emerged.

The huge 156-square-metre model has been expropriated by the state, with transport secretary Heidi Alexander saying Britain’s miniature railway infrastructure “must serve the public and not just a small minority of 1970s music legends”.

Defending the decision, Alexander said: “Public ownership will reduce waste, save taxpayers’ money and help link poorly connected model towns, providing much-needed economic stimulus for the tiny plastic people who live in them.

“Rod’s railway will also be easy to maintain due to its low labour costs. The miniature plastic conductors, stationmasters and engineers don’t have to be paid a salary, and they can’t unionise or go on strike because they’re glued in place.”

Stewart, who has spent 23 years constructing the ‘Three Rivers City’ model in his rock star mansion, reacted furiously, claiming the move marked the end of private property and that Britain was “turning into Zimbabwe”.

He fumed: “It starts with my railway, and if we let them get away with this then they’ll come for your Airfix models and Warcraft dioramas. Where will it end? Snatching Lego Duplo out of your children’s gummy mouths?”

However the relocation of the railway has faced a legal challenge from environmentalists, who say it is a protected conservation area due to Stewart inadvertently gluing a small plastic Peregrine Falcon to a tree.

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The incredible story of how I rescued my backpacker friend from Stoke

WHEN backpacker Nikki Hollis went missing in Stoke-on-Trent, friend Tom Logan knew he had to save her. Here is the moving story of how he finally brought her home.

When I heard Nikki was missing in Stoke I immediately assumed she was dead – mauled by dangerous dogs on a chav estate or literally bored to death by tedious accounts of the pottery industry.

I’d known her at school, and having been to Stoke-on-Trent once when I got lost on the way to Liverpool I knew I couldn’t leave her in a cursed wasteland of grotty pubs, ersatz Chinese takeaways and primitive tracksuited humans known as ‘Stokies’. 

I took the first National Express coach to Hanley bus station and immediately began my search. At first I assumed the incessant shouts of ‘Ay up duck!’ were threats, but it turned out to be obscure local dialect meaning: ‘Good day, sir or madam, would you like me to tell you about Royal Doulton for the billionth f**king time?’

Finally I saw a young woman with a large backpack staring at a statue of 1930s footballer Sir Stanley Matthews. My heart leapt – she looked pale and incredibly bored but it was unmistakably Nikki. 

At first she was scared, but slowly she began to recognise me. It emerged that she’d only intended to have a quick look round, but had been traumatised by the complete lack of cultural activity except for a ‘Spitfire museum’ containing just one Spitfire and notorious megastar twat Robbie Williams being born there.

Worse, she’d been subsisting on the local rubbery pancakes known as ‘Staffordshire oatcakes’ and was already showing signs of obesity and furred arteries from all the bacon and melted cheese.

Knowing there wasn’t a second to waste, I got Nikki on the next train south, and I can report that, after a full medical check by her doctor, she is safely back at her parents’ home in Surrey. People are calling me a hero, but I only did what anyone who’s been to the Potteries would do.

Nikki is likely to make a full physical recovery, but the mental scars will take longer to heal. She’s still having nightmares that make her wake up screaming in the night, but that’s to be expected when you’ve spent three whole days in Stoke.

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