a concert dedicated to love, miracle babies and a happy ending

August 16th -

The perfect Sunday afternoon in Luton South. St George's Square has always looked a bit bleak to me before, with its metres of Chinese granite, and a corner of grass. But today in the hot sunshine it was covered with tables, stalls selling everything, music, jewellery, fried chicken, all surrounded by a happy crowd rocking to reggae. This was the Luton Loves Music, Hates Racism concert, flatly contradicting the cynics who try to convey a very different picture of this diverse, warm-hearted town. All humanity was there, every age, every race, every religion, all smiling and dancing and enjoying a glimpse of the English summer. Not of course that a hot roast corn cob and some brilliant drumming is going to solve the problems of the world, but it's a start

I paused to watch the children jumping and dancing in the fountains. Luton Council created their fun, they must be delighted. As artist Gaz from the Hat factory drew a caricature of me, complete with a Luton hat and Rantzen teeth, a courteous young man talked to me seriously about the damage he believes I am doing to Luton's politics. He described himself as being left of the Labour party, and talked about potential candidates who have put in years of hard work, only to have been shoved off balance and out of the picture by what he called the Rantzen circus. "Would you stand down", he asked me, "If you became aware that your circus was damaging the chances of a better candidate?" "No," I said. "Why not?" "Because I wouldn't think they were better."

He laughs, I laugh. And I explain that although I may appear to be a "celebrity", in fact it's my journalism and campaigning work that I hope will qualify me for politics

I can't apologize for my lack of political experience. This will be an election in which I hope other non-politicians will also decide to stand. After all, many of the people who have spent the last decades propping up the current system have done us all a disservice. A Lutonian I spoke to on Friday told me his view is that the party memberships are all so low now, it means the "gene pool" of potential candidates is very, very limited. Certainly the result in Totness seems to prove the value of non-politicians coming forward, a local GP got the Conservative nomination there, by public demand. I'm sure we need more people like her, with experience outside politics, to put themselves forward.

Personally I will be standing as a prospective Independent candidate partly because I am so un-impressed by any of the politicians left, right or centre, who, over the years, have allowed the current system to flourish. By the current system, I don't just mean the abuse of allowances and expenses. I mean a system, which, for example, means that the voters cannot recall MPs even when they are patently not doing the job. Which, from what I have been told, has been the situation in Luton South. Margaret Moran it seems has been notorious for not replying to letters, not being accessible, not being available, the people I've spoken to have felt completely unrepresented. And now of course since Margaret is off sick, they are indeed, unrepresented.

Chatting beside one of the stalls at the concert I found the MP for Luton North, Kelvin Hopkins, who is as respected and popular as Margaret Moran was not. The man talking to him shakes me by the hand, smiles at Kelvin, and tells me I would not have a chance of standing against him. Good for Kelvin. We enjoy the sunshine together, and wish each other luck, unofficially of course.

On the way home I walk around the gorgeous gardens of Luton Hoo, and watch the fountains catch the light. Just after the Second World War, Churchill spoke here to 110,000 people, grateful for all the Churchill tanks manufactured in the Vauxhall factory. I visualize the scene. I've never been part of a crowd that huge. Now there are wagtails on the lawn where they must have stood. The old Vauxhall plant is waiting for a creative re-developer to use the land well. Not tanks this time. My dream would be to turn it into a theme park. Luton is the centre of Britain, with unrivalled transport links. What fun to have DisneylandLuton. As I dream in the sun, a couple of Easyjets fly overhead, to reinforce the point.

Friday was good, too. A visit to Luton and Dunstable Hospital, the L & D, to see the tiny babies in the neonatal ward. They weigh less than a bag of sugar. Tiny hands, minute stretching feet, I can just imagine how harsh the air and the light must feel to them. How do they survive? Next to the incubators, a beautiful young nurse. She was born twenty years ago, and though she is healthy and gorgeous now, then she was well over ten weeks premature, and taken immediately to this very ward. Standing next to her, one of the nurses who looked after her, still doing the same for today's tiny babies. And with them both, the distinguished consultant who was the young registrar who had also looked after her twenty years ago. All three looked proud, and happy, and so they should. What a wonderful message of hope to the desperately anxious parents, wondering if their own tiny morsels of life will survive. The L & D is launching an appeal to extend the neo natal intensive care, so that babies don't have to be ferried all over the country when they desperately need support. I do hope the Appeal is successful.

Also on Friday, a heart-warming visit to the indoor market, where I may be given a unit so that I can meet Lutonians who might want to talk to me about the problems in their lives. And there I hear another typical Luton story. Recently an elderly Luton lady took out all her savings to pay for her daughter's wedding. Professional pick-pockets followed her out of the bank, and as she reached Keith's counter in the fish-monger, they stole all her money out of her bag. She arrived in David Gibbs's, office, he is the boss of the indoor market, in tears. He gave her a cup of tea, called up the CCTV to see what happened, and promised to meet her again the next day. He was as good as his word. But this time he had with him a bulging envelope. Hearing what has happened, Keith and all the other market traders have had a whip-round, and between them raised the £1,000 she lost. I took home with me a lovely bouquet from the market, and very happy memories.