I have a plan. I think I can save Zimbabwe. I'm not saying I can do it single-handedly. Certainly, the groundwork has been done by Thabo Mbeki, inserting himself into the middle of that slightly gruesome hypocrisy sandwich on Monday, as Robert Mugabe and Morgan Tsvangirai shook hands, and smiled at each other only with their mouths. That meeting could bring peace. It could bring stability. But it's not going to bring prosperity. They need another plan for that. And, like I said, I think I have one.

At almost the exact moment that the meeting was taking place, Zimbabwe's Reserve Bank issued its first $100 billion note. It's not as much as it sounds. The Zimbabwean shopper will need four to buy a dozen eggs, and another for his bus fare. On paper, it's worth only slightly more than it is as paper, that's to say about 7p. But consider - on eBay, it's worth about £40.

Think about that. If Zimbabweans can only get to a computer to auction their notes, they can turn their $100 billion into, I think, nearly $57 trillion. Do it again, just the once, and they are into the realms of quadrillions. Then quintillions, sextillions, and all the others your calculator can't cope with. Septillions, octillions and vaudevillian rapscallion scullions. Suddenly they're the new Russians. Notaphily to the rescue. Obviously, this is not an endless supply of cash. The world only contains so many $100 billion notes and indeed, so many potential notaphilists prepared to buy them. Still, for a time it could work a dream. Monopoly money leaves the economy, real money comes in. That's good, isn't it? Anyone? Anatole?

For all I know, Robert Mugabe clicked on this months ago. Maybe that's how he keeps himself in shiny marble bathrooms and grim shirts. A cyberspace Nero, fiddling on his laptop as Zimbabwe burns. It's a complicated business. Some $50 billion notes actually sell for more than $100 billion notes, and some $5billion notes sell for even more than them. What do you call it, when little notes are worth more than big ones? It makes my brain feel like a water balloon squashed in a fist. Economics with motion sickness. In another generation, Zimbabweans could be the best mathematicians in the world.

Times Archive, 1966: In defence of Batman

Not a word of complaint was received from the police

• Batman sticks to letter of the law

• Batman's £3m. U.S. success, 1966

Heath Ledger tipped for Oscar

Black carpet rolled out and talk of a posthumous Oscar at the unveiling of Heath Ledger film The Dark Knight

• The Dark Knight: the first review

• Heath Ledger: The Times obituary

• Heath Ledger died from accidental overdose of prescription drugs, autopsy concludes

Related Internet Links

• Dark Knight trailer

• Dark Knight featurette

• Sky News special report

Background

• Final farewell to Heath Ledger

• Batman Begins

• Who is the best big-screen comic book hero?

Related Internet Links

• 10 things that make Dark Knight the best Batman ever

• Interview: Batman's Special Effects wizard

• Batman Begins: Blu-ray competition

Batman for never

Batman. Again. Since I was a child, I have been annoyed by Batman. Not, please understand, in a personal way. Batman did not sit behind me in class, flicking my ears. His searchlight does not disturb my sleep. No, I'm annoyed by his very essence. His handle. In a nutshell, I am annoyed by his glaring failure, in any way, to resemble a bat.

Batman, Batman, does absolutely nothing that a bat can. He's a fraud. He can't fly, he can't hang upside down, he can't navigate around a darkened room by going “eeep”, nothing. He's bugger all like a bat. He just has those stupid bloody ears, that aren't even plumbed into his head. And it's not even consistent. The Dark Knight? A knight bat? A bat on a horse? What?

Hey, credit where it is due. At least Christian Bale's stupid bat-costume lets him look over his shoulder. Most others don't. Watching Michael Keaton fight hammy thugs in a rainy alleyway, you might have thought that Gotham City was being defended by Jools Holland. Why? Bats have necks. That's basically all they are; they're necks with wings and feet. Why take away Batman's neck? It's as bizarre as his weaponry. At least give the man fangs, for God's sake. A belt? You're putting a bat in a belt? Is somebody drunk?

Even Catwoman had claws. The only excuse Batman could possibly have for being called Batman would be if he were actually biologically a bat, but with mannish characteristics, as opposed to (allegedly) the reverse. And even then, he ought to be Manbat. But he's not a bat. He's nothing like a bat. I'm sick of it.

Sticky situation

There is something so terribly forlorn about the tale of Dan Glass, the environmental activist who tried and failed to Superglue himself to Gordon Brown at a Downing Street reception. According to various reports, the Prime Minister laughed and moved away, which leaves one wondering whether he even noticed what his assailant was trying to do. “There was no stickiness of any significance,” a Downing Street spokesman declared.

Thereafter, Glass apparently spent another three quarters of an hour milling around at the drinks party, before failing to glue himself to the Downing Street gates. “I didn't have much glue left by that point,” he claimed subsequently.

It's that interim three quarters of an hour that fascinates me. What does a man at a Downing Street reception do with a sticky hand for three quarters of an hour? It can't have gone in his pocket. It would never have come out. How many glasses and canapés did he struggle to put down? How many minor civil servants found themselves embroiled in prolonged, slightly embarrassing handshakes? Maybe it was ethical, environmental glue, and barely stuck at all.

Times Recommends

• We must lead the world to stability
• The recession's a blessing in disguise
• The guilty men who sent mum to Iceland