Wenceslas wishes you were here …

Their Good Majesties King Wenceslas and Queen Berta are currently on holiday in Barbados and will not be back in Bohemia until early in the new year.

They take this opportunity to wish all their friends a very happy Christmas. Even though they are far away, their thoughts will be with their people, especially on the Feast of Stephen.

Instead of sending Christmas cards this year, King Wenceslas is making donations to a number of charities. A full list of these can be found on his website www.wenceslas.com/lookout (click on “Good” and follow the links), but here are some of the main causes the King and Queen are supporting:

Hither and Yonder. This is the umbrella organisation for a number of self-help groups undertaking community projects in the St Agnes area. A great deal of work still needs to be done to restore the fine old St Agnes fountain to its former glory after it was saved from the developers by an energetic local campaign. It also hoped to build a community centre for peasant mothers and toddlers. Money will also be used for essential repairs to the forest fence.

Give a Boar. Once again, King Wenceslas is supporting this admirable scheme started by Bohfam, to donate wild boars to the poorest inhabitants of the forest region to help them support themselves by raising livestock. There were teething problems with the scheme last year, but now the important stretch of the forest fence has been repaired and most of the victims of mauling have recovered from the worst of their injuries. Lessons have been learnt and it is time to move ahead with this scheme.

The Campaign for a Sustainable Bohemia. Thanks to the wonderful work of the popular singer Krok, awareness has been raised of the problem of depleting stocks of pine logs. The only solution is to turn to some form of sustainable energy, and that is why it is so important to support the plans for a wind farm a good league hence from His Majesty’s castle. More needs to be done to win over local objectors. Some dwellings will have to be demolished.

Deep and Crisp. This is the charity founded by that wonderful organisation Snow Concern and it is, of course, closely tied to Their Majesties’ other environmental interests. Do you remember when the moon shone brightly, the frosts were cruel and the wind blew stronger? All that could disappear if we don’t do something urgently about climate change. Pretty soon there could be no snow to lie dinted. Scientists say that, if nothing is done, by the year 989, flood water could reach the level of the turret of the castle from which King Wenceslas usually looks out on the Feast of Stephen.

Stand by Me. We all know about the growing problem of delinquency in the St Agnes area, having seen it with our own eyes. Many theories have been put forward to explain this. Some say it is boredom, because peasant youths don’t have enough facilities, while others claim it is the result of being exposed to the constant violent spectacle of vicious wild boars rampaging and goring people.

King Wenceslas had personal experience of the problem when, last Feast of Stephen, a guest of his (a yonder peasant, as it happens) was mugged while making his way home from the castle, somewhat inebriated after a convivial night. In July their Majesties held a charity ball in aid of Stand by Me.

Tread Thou Boldly. Queen Berta is patron of this charity which runs a retirement home specially for former pages with frostbitten feet. Alas, inadequate footwear for manservants is a long-standing problem in Bohemia, and they are often expected to go out at all hours of day and night. Tread Thou Boldly offers them expert nursing care and treatment by the nation’s top chiropodists. Before they left for Barbados, King Wenceslas and Queen Berta donated a substantial amount of flesh and wine for a charity auction to raise funds to buy a mini-sledge to take patients on outings round our beautiful forested region.

Coming up next …

I’m away on my Christmas holidays from 20 December until 4 January. I’ve scheduled some seasonal postings to keep your Christmas spirit topped up (RJG take note!).

• 20 December – Chill after reading
• 21 December – Rudolf the bleeped reindeer
• 22 December – Even wise men make lists
• 23 December – Festive games for all the family
• 24 December – A list to end all lists
• 25 December – It’s still not too late to sign the Santa clause
• 01 January – 12 useful things for today

Happy Christmas to one and all, may your Yuletide be filled with warmth, happiness and good cheer.

Silent knight, holy knight

Many problems of etiquette arise at Christmas time, so today I am dealing with some of your recent queries.

To “Puzzled of Bohemia”: have you thought of making a donation to a peasants’ charity? Perhaps there is a fund for the restoration of the St Agnes fountain, for example. This way, you would avoid any possible misunderstanding about going out and inviting a perfect stranger back to your house for flesh and wine. As you say, it could be seen as patronising. In any case, yonder individual may be quite well off and just collecting logs for the wood-burning stove in his bijou second home in the countryside.

One has to be so careful in one’s dealings with pages, so I think your treading in footsteps idea is a non-starter. My advice is: if in doubt, don’t dint. You could give your page a bit of cash and ask him to go to the charity shop and choose a pair of stout boots for himself. And on the Feast of Stephen this year you might think of organising some sort of entertainment, like a game of charades, to help you resist the temptation to look out.

To “Sleighsick”: tinnitus is a distressing affliction and I’m sorry people are not being more sensitive about it. If you don’t want to offend your in-laws, why not accept the offer of a lift in their sleigh but specify that you want to jingle only half the way?

To “Mortified”: yes, I think you may have committed a faux pas. The word “deck” in this context must have meant “decorate” and was not being used as a slang expression for knocking someone to the ground. Your friends the Halls must have been alarmed to see you advancing on them with a holly bough. I can only suggest that you try to make light of the incident and hope they will come to see that it was a lot of Fa la la la la, la la la la about nothing.

To “Flustered”: if your tidings really can’t wait, it would be OK to interrupt the night-time gathering of the shepherds. As you say they are all “seated on the ground”, it’s obviously an informal “pot luck” occasion so I don’t see how you would be regarded as a gatecrasher. I would try to draw one of the shepherds to one side and discreetly pass on the news. Avoid any kind of a fuss, and, above all, don’t disturb the flocks – shepherds are touchy about that sort of thing.

To “Dismayed”: you are being over-sensitive. Your feud with your neighbours is based on a simple misunderstanding caused by faulty punctuation. You wrongly assumed they were suggesting that you and your flatmate were drunken gays when they referred to you as merry gentlemen. There was a comma missing and it was actually “God rest you merry, gentlemen.” Why not invite them round for cheese and wine and comfort and joy?

To “Landlubber”: dropping in unannounced on Christmas Day is really not acceptable and you are entitled to be annoyed if you see three ships come sailing in without so much as a by-your-leave. Why not get yourself some semaphore flags and signal to them that it is just not convenient this year? If you have issued a general “O Come All Ye Faithful” invitation, then you have told everyone it’s open house and you have to take what’s coming to you.

To “Worried Red Berries”: you must insist on your right to bear the crown. And, while there’s not much you can do about the rising of the sun, the running of the deer should be kept within reasonable bounds and you should try to reach some agreement over the playing of the merry organ.

Finally, I have a reminder about an important matter of etiquette which I always pass on at this time of year: it is “not done” to sing the descant of The First Noël unless specifically invited to do so.

Who to tip?

For many people, this can be a worrying time of year.

I believe I can help by answering the question that bothers them most: “Who am I supposed to tip at Christmas? And how much?“

Incidentally, the tradition of the “Christmas box” goes back to Victorian times, when tradesman used to call on customers who would then literally box their ears to encourage them to do even better next year. So you would give the paper boy a hearty cuff and say: “Take that, you scallywag. That’s for failing to deliver my copy of the lavishly illustrated souvenir pull-out supplement on the Repeal of the Corn Laws.” Then the poor boy would go, hot-eared, to the house next door to take his punishment for scrunching up the Horse & Carriage section of the Saturday paper in the letterbox.

Cuffing tradesmen has mostly died out now. Today, the Christmas box is more likely to be the cardboard container covered with colourful wrapping paper, marked “Wishing All Our Customers a Merry Xmas”. It has a slot carved in the lid and it is placed next to the cash-till in the dry cleaners, the vet’s surgery, the DIY shop and the Indian takeaway. This can lead to tricky situations, but you just have to decide how good a customer you have been over the past year and then help yourself to what you consider is the appropriate amount.

Here is my handy guide to seasonal tipping:

Dustmen. Now that most councils have farmed out refuse collection to private companies, the dustmen who come to call at this time of year probably just want to express their gratitude for getting the contract. You can expect them to pay each household about a fiver. Refusal to accept this can offend.

Carol singers. These days, they usually use their mobile phones to ring you up and give you one-and-a-half verses of Away in a Manger. If you have a star button on your telephone, press it twice, give your credit card details, and the appropriate sum will be deducted from your account.

The ISP 24-hour help desk. These people who talk you through your online crises certainly expect a token of your gratitude on Christmas Eve. You should go round and see them, shake hands and leave a present. The normal gift is a haunch of venison. Or a brace of pheasant, at a pinch.

Postmen. They appreciate the personal touch. Make them a Christmas card collage out of some of the mail-order catalogues you have received.

The bank manager. In the old days, you sent him a bottle of medium dry sherry. Now you have an interactive personal banking account supervisory team, consisting of Doug, Sue, Rick, Trish and Jojo, and they are expecting you to show up at lunchtime on 22nd December, take them to the pub and get absolutely smashed. If not, some time next year you’ll find a lot of your old bank statements dumped on your front path and your lawn.

Traffic wardens. Traditionally, the BMW owner (as the unofficial squire) living in any street is obliged to invite the local traffic wardens in for mulled wine, mince pies and carols round the tree. Owners of other vehicles, parked at a safe distance, may then arrive bearing gifts.

Television repair men. The tradition is that the first television repair man to cross the threshold between 18th December and 6th January receives a slice of cake and £75. This is known as the “call-out charge” and dates back to the 18th century, when officers of the watch used to patrol the streets at night calling out seasonal greetings.

If you want to give a more imaginative token, you can follow the custom of pagan times when, at the winter solstice, they gave presents of bunches of beech twigs and rushes smeared with clay and bound together with crude twine. These were supposed to have the power to ward off boils and foot rot. They are fun to make and will be appreciated by the delivery man or the hairdresser or the paper boy.

And certainly better than the boring old fiver in a Christmas card!

Christmas shopping ideas (pt 2)

Here’s the promised sequel to my recent posting about ideas for Christmas presents for that hard-to-buy-for person in your life:

Why not buy your loved one a seven-day intensive course in tweeting? Chewton Glen Hotel & Spa, in the New Forest, now combines these advanced Twitter classes with its health and fitness regimes, so he/she can learn the art and etiquette of tweeting from the comfort of his/her mud bath. Learn to tweet in Spanish and French. At the end he/she gts a beautfl inscrbd dplma on prchmnt. The cst=£5.2k 4 the wk. Non-veg opt avail.

The must-have executive toy this year is the Hume Patented Paperclip Straightener. Simply place the paperclip in the elegant box, covered in hand-tooled leather, and, after 30 second it pops out perfectly straight. It can take 100 paperclips at a time.

Also, for the man in your life, the Pezholio Enlarger. This is a special magnifying glass for reading his tabloid/compact newspaper and making it appear to be broadsheet.

Malvern woman now carries a neat pearl-handled tranquiliser dart gun in her handbag at all times. She knows that, if an enraged bull bursts out of John Lewis and comes charging towards her, she will be able to fell it at 20 paces. Also works on elephants requiring surgery. The Williams Ladies’ Dinky Tranquilizette is available by mail order at £149.99, including p&p.

Why not give your ever-lovin’ guy “Slurp on a Rope” and keep him happy in the shower for hours? This ingenious gift consists of the traditional soap on a rope, but with a brandy flask inside, so he can tipple while he lathers. Also available in Bailey’s and Advocaat. On sale in the off-licence section of most branches of Boots, price £18.99.

Do you ever find yourself, at the end of a dinner party, longing to leave but unable to communicate the fact to your partner, who is chattering away at the other end of the table? This is your answer – the Bijou Distress Flare. The size of a cigarette lighter, it fires coloured lights into the air. Choice of orange or green flares. Explosions optional. If this does not attract your partner’s attention, you could always shoot him with your Ladies’ Dinky Tranquilizette.

Has your man got a mini Armani jacket for his iPhone?

If you want to give a friend a present for the house, the Wind Chimes Boxed Set CD gives hours of soothing wind chime sounds from varying wind strengths. The last track on the fourth CD is entitled Chimes in a Hurricane and in the background, behind the tinkling, you can actually hear the noise of a roof being torn off. A great conversation piece.

For the person who says he/she wants “something useful” the solution is the Conran Reminder. This beautifully finished maple wood tray with silver rods holding different-sized coloured balls, with fine wires stretched between them, can be placed on a table or a shelf and it reminds you to go and have a look round the Conran shop some time. Special offer price: £707.

The Gentleman’s Garlic Room Spray, in the form of a fountain pen, is the perfect stocking filler. Two bursts and it neutralises the un-pleasing niff of scented candles at Christmas time.

Don’t forget the Cosmetic Surgery Vouchers.

Presents for the kitchen

The Personalised Brillo Pad Container stops your scourer making rusty marks on your work surfaces. Send your photograph to the manufacturers and it will be printed on the container. Or you can have it decorated with a Lord of the Rings motif . . . Or, having a problem with things dropping off the fridge door? Get a Fridge Magnet Re-Charger. Simply plug it in and leave the magnets in it for three days.

The Mini Kitchen Camcorder allows your boyfriend to film himself successfully getting the top off the marmalade jar, so he can keep the evidence for posterity.

Have you thought of cranberry tongs?

Following a fascinating first visit to a YO! Sushi recently, this year I am buying my housemate the brilliant Lotus Garden Telescope, a snip at £90. This ingenious device is a telescope, disguised as a chopstick, which will enable her to see what other people are having to eat at even the most distant tables in a sushi bar. There is also a Chinese restaurant model.

Merry shopping to one and all!

Get in trim for Christmas!

It’s that time of the year once more, when we all start looking forward to Christmas and think that perhaps we need to get in trim so that we can stuff ourselves silly on 25 December.

Here are my some recommendations for seasonal slimming campaigns:

The Yonder Peasant Workout. Tighten those tummy muscles with this simple exercise: take three steps forward then bend down as if you are picking up a piece of winter fuel. If a monarch and a page show up and offer you wine and flesh, resist the temptation.

The 10-Day All-Marzipan Diet. Eat nothing but marzipan, but be sure to include at least three portions of fruit a day – eg marzipan apples, pears and bananas. Go easy on the snowmen. It is an odd fact of life that if you pick a chocolate at random from a box it will always be the marzipan one, but if you are looking for the marzipan, all you get are Turkish delight, hazelnut whirl and coffee creme. Persevere – and only eat one bit of each mistake. This sweetmeat, made of ground almonds, syrup and sugar, is said to have been perfected by Ursuline nuns in France, who were noted for their virtue and their trim figures.

The Glad Tidings Slimming Aid. Glad tidings is a mixture of crushed chickpeas, sesame seeds, oats and dried ewes’ milk which might well have made up the sort of gruel eaten by shepherds abiding in fields. It comes in 500g packets; just add hot water. You’ll find those troublesome extra inches just won’t abide!

Sprouts Galore. Why not supplement your daily salad of alfalfa and mung bean sprouts with a dozen Brussels sprouts? Not only does this make a terrific low calorie treat, but also the triphenolactins in Brussels sprouts help to guard against seasonal anxieties and forebodings about visiting relations.

Sprout water, poured over the head of a loved one, is very good for the scalp – BBC Radio 2’s Sarah Kennedy, world renowned for a personal loathing of sprouts, is an enthusiastic endorser of this treatment.

The Michelangelo Diet. Few people realise that the human tongue burns up an enormous number of calories. Licking the gummed edge of a fair-sized envelope is the equivalent of a two-mile run. So send large Christmas cards this year. It’s called the Michelangelo Diet, but any large reproduction of a renaissance nativity scene will do – or even a Bruegel of skating peasants. Start licking this week, doing about 45 tongue-centimetres a day, gradually building up to 250 by Christmas Eve.

Get That Inner Glitter. The important thing about any diet is to get the balance right. From now on, your daily intake should include a small portion of Sellotape (bitten off your finger while making parcels), one mystery canape (preferably including an unexpected morsel of prune), a heaped teaspoonful of tinsel (glitter will do), one index finger’s worth of raw cake mix and one bite of minced pie heated to 650 degrees centigrade.

Only Fools and Fitness Trainers. Here is an exercise guaranteed to develop those pecs! Every day, get a newspaper’s 86-page Complete Television Guide for the Christmas Holiday and see if you can tear it in half.

The Jingle Tingle. Oh, what fun it is to jog behind a one-horse open sleigh! This makes a bracing change from the traditional Christmas shopping run where you have to sprint round 25 different gift departments, picking up a scented candle in each one.

Soot Is Hot. The top fitness guru everyone is talking about these days is based in Greenland, but is prepared to make house calls. All his clients swear by his “carbon and moss fume” treatment. Apparently, you get dressed up in a scarlet tracksuit, climb into a sort of chimney device to get yourself coated in soot, then you absorb the fumes of a particular type of Arctic moss by getting the reindeer (which feed on it) to breathe heavily into your face. The beauty of this treatment is that you are allowed as many mince pies and glasses of port as you like.

Christmas shopping ideas (pt 1)

Stumped for Christmas present ideas for your wife or girlfriend? Well I’ve got a few ideas for you to ponder.

My new adopt-an-offshore-wind-turbine scheme means that she can have her very own piece of Britain’s new clean energy.

When you adopt a turbine on her behalf she gets a certificate (on recycled paper, naturally) to say it is hers, she is allowed to name it and she receives an annual letter from it, telling her how it has been getting on, how many gigawatts it has generated and reporting on interesting mechanical faults it has suffered.

You can pick the location for her adopted wind turbine – maybe a particular area of unspoiled coastline which has romantic associations for you both. Imagine the pleasure she will get from choosing the colour scheme for painting her very own turbine and planning boat trips to visit it on its birthday.

And she also gets to use “her” lovely clean electricity absolutely free. That means she is entitled to the equivalent of five electric kettles of boiling water every year. What a wonderful excuse for a party! Invite the friends and neighbours round to watch the kettle boil, using her special electricity.

It goes without saying that this will make a wonderful conversation piece when the topic is climate change. (When isn’t it?) And on wet and windy days she’ll say: “My turbine will be enjoying this. His name is Turby and he’s forget-me-not blue. Would you like to see a photo of him?”

You’ll also be accepted in all the smartest environmental circles; Jonathon Porritt will say “Call me Johnny”, and she’ll be able to drop in unannounced on Al Gore.

Need more ideas? How about this year’s must-have pet: the Mongolian jerboa. This will enchant the lady in your life.

As an endangered species, the white rhino is so 2008, the giant bronze gecko is disappointingly uncuddly and the Ecuadorian lava cactus doesn’t really “do” much, but the lovely thing about the Mongolian jerboa is that it manages to be threatened without being too miserable about it.

They are affectionate creatures and they are ideal if you want to get out the old camcorder and make a wildlife film in your own front room. Order your Mongolian jerboa today and you get a free copy of the booklet, Learn Hushed Commentary Technique The Attenborough Way.

And when your lady shows up to that New Year’s Eve party with her Mongolian jerboa tucked under her arm, she is bound to get envious looks from all her chihuahua-owning friends. Hurry, while stocks last!

Is there someone in your family who is football crazy? Surprise him or her by making them England manager. You only need to bung the FA a couple of million to secure this once-in-a-lifetime experience for a loved one.

The job comes with a smart, weatherproof coat (with stylishly upturned collar) for wearing as you patrol the touchline making angry and despairing gestures. You also get as much free chewing gum as you can handle.

Buy this present and it could be your boyfriend or girlfriend giving that press conference and saying it got better in the second half and he (or she) was disappointed for the lads.

Why not give your son or daughter the precious gift of sporting immortality? Watch their little faces light up on Christmas morning as they open the envelope and read the letter informing them that they have sponsored one centimetre of the running track for London 2012 or, even better, a handful of sand for the long jump pit.

This means that, in less than three years’ time, the backsides of some of the world’s greatest athletes will be landing in sand part-owned by your child. Sealed bids (minimum of £6m) should be sent to Tessa Jowell.

I know some people like to receive jokey surprise presents at Christmas. So what can you give the man who already has a whoopee cushion? Why not secretly install hidden CCTV cameras in his house? Then watch his face when you invite him round to view the footage!

Cinderella, for health & safety’s sake

In the run up to Christmas I wish to register my strong support for Cinderella’s application for an extension, allowing her to be present at balls after midnight during the festive period.

There have, I’m afraid, been the usual scare stories about this, but Cinderella assures me that she has no plans for a 24-hour ball attendance; the relaxation will simply allow her to spend longer at certain charity events attended by HRH Prince Charming.

Last Christmas newspapers were full of tales of balls going on into the early hours, with binge-waltzing, Strauss-fuelled violence, the streets littered with glass slippers and bands of unruly Shetland ponies disturbing the peace and vomiting. These were wildly exaggerated. Let me add that the police have orders to crack down hard on Buttons if he is found in a residential area singing There’s a Hole in My Bucket.

The great advantage of flexible ball-leaving hours is that it would avoid the “mad dash” which exists under the present last-stroke-of-midnight system. Health and safety issues are involved here. We know that Cinderella mislaid an item of footwear while racing down the palace steps last year and this could easily happen again. Suppose another guest lost her shoe, twisted her ankle and decided to sue the palace authorities? Already they have felt the need to install handrails and warning notices.

Golden coaches which suddenly turn into pumpkins also pose a threat. Road safety experts forecast a dramatic reduction in pumpkin-related accidents if Cinderella’s arbitrary midnight deadline is abolished.

Killjoys who predict all-night giddy twirling at the nation’s balls have little to say about infestations of rats and mice in the streets round the palace. Not just any old rodents, but traumatised rats and mice, trying to come to terms with the fact that, for a few brief hours, they were ponies and coachmen. Animal psychologists say they can’t rule out the possibility of a mouse going berserk after remembering its short career in livery.

We should also remember how many members of the police force are diverted from their normal duties to help with security when Prince Charming travels round the country in search of the person with the small-enough foot to fit the mystery slipper. These officers would be better employed fighting crime rather than becoming involved in a massive shoe-fitting operation.

Granting this extension would remove an anomaly. The Ugly Sisters may remain at the ball for as long as they like and they are now defending the status quo. They just don’t want Cinderella to have the same freedom of choice. It’s just another case of the “do-as-I say-and-not-as-I-do” attitude which is so prevalent today.

The last-stroke-of-midnight deadline is an archaic and rigid rule laid down by the Fairy Godmother, who, I would remind you, is not democratically elected. In this day and age we really should have done away with government by wand and puff of smoke.

Imposing a curfew to force Cinderella to leave the ball is just another example of the godmother state. These self-appointed godmothers tell us what is good for us, arrive uninvited in our houses and tell us what we can and can’t do with pumpkins. In this case the Fairy Godmother, without proper consultation, experimented with live animals. There’s an element of social engineering here, too, taking the girl from the fireplace, showing her a good time, then snatching it away from her again.

It is time for the rest of us to make a stand and say “Cinderella, you shall stay at the ball.”

Neighbourhood snooping

There’s nothing new about neighbourhood snooping, the latest wheeze from local government. Council officers all over the country have been at it for some time already …

“Excuse me, Sir. As you can see from the laminated card I am now showing you, I am a member of the council’s squad of highly trained anti-smoking monitors and I’ve just seen you lighting a cigarette in this bus shelter which constitutes an enclosed place. I am therefore duty bound to levy an on-the-spot fine of £50.”

“Not so fast, my friend. This is a decoy cigarette. I’d lit it to lure you out into the open as I suspected, rightly, that you were about to spit your chewing gum out on to the pavement. Opening my overcoat, I can reveal that I’m wearing the fluorescent jacket which is the uniform of an officer in the council’s Pavement Clean Up Brigade. There is a standard fine of £50. Most major credit cards accepted.”

“Sorry to interrupt you two gentlemen. This silver star on my lapel indicates that I am one of the council’s team of obesity tsars. I am exercising my powers to ask you both to remove your belts, so I can check the notches to see if you have let them out. The flat rate fine is £50 per notch which can be added to your council tax. You will also be required to go on a course.”

“Aha! I expect you three chaps thought I was just a little old lady with her shopping. In fact I am a crack undercover member of the council’s Child Safety Patrol. If you give me a moment, I have my maroon peaked cap with gold braid somewhere in my bag. You two gentlemen are committing a statutory offence by having your trousers round your ankles in public within a five kilometre radius of a school. There will be a fine and we accept euros.”

“Good morning madam and gentlemen. As you can see from my important-looking clipboard I am conducting a survey for the council’s healthy eating campaign. I am checking if you’ve had any of your five pieces of fruit today. I regret there will be a fine for anything less than the equivalent of three bananas or 39 grapes. You will be required to state times of fruit consumption and give names of witnesses, where possible. I will write the information on my clipboard using this special ballpoint pen marked with the website address of the council.”

“Freeze! Drop the pen and step forward with your hands above your head. You two with your trousers round your ankles, don’t make a move. And you, madam, in the maroon peaked cap with gold braid, keep your hands away from your shopping basket. You with the silver star, step back from those belts. You all assumed I was an ordinary seller of The Big Issue but, as you can see by the natty badge in this wallet, I am a highly trained plain clothes officer charged by the council to hunt down people in the street with dangerous sharp objects. These include unlicensed ballpoint pens. A licence for a pen costs £50. I am authorised to issue receipts.”

“Hi, folks, can you spare a minute of your time? I’m part of the council’s dental hygiene crackdown. That’s why I’m wearing this white coat with my name badge on it. As you can see, I’m Julie. Now what I want you all to do is blow into my special electronic device here so I can test the freshness of your breath. You with the natty badge and copies of The Big Issue can go first. I should mention there is a £100 fine for non-cooperation, but only a £50 penalty if your breath registers as fetid on my little device.”

“Well, well, well, I see there are seven of you here. That constitutes an unlawful gathering, likely to stir up unease, unrest or other unpleasantness. You could also be members of a gang planning to go and hang round council property, harassing hard-pressed council employees.”

“You may think that I am the mere driver of a mere 91 bus that has just pulled up at this bus shelter, but you are wrong. Driving buses is just my cover. I am an accredited member of the council’s gang-busting squad. I have been on a course and I have this framed diploma to prove it. You must all board the bus now and I will take you to the depot where you will be processed, counselled and fined. Please note that smoking is not permitted in any part of this vehicle.”

Blood will out

I have to have my blood tested regularly, so I consider myself a bit of an expert. I wear that strip of Micropore plaster on the inside of my elbow like a campaign medal.

You could say, when it comes to the needle, my arm is an old hand, if not a pin cushion. They do a very good blood test at the Royal South Hants Hospital in Southampton; indeed it’s so good that the queues start forming half an hour before the department opens. I swaggered in at 2.15pm this afternoon and I was 33rd in line.

They have numbered tickets, like the delicatessen in a supermarket. We sit, arms folded in the waiting area, watchful, in case anyone sabotages the system, and give withering looks if anyone’s mobile rings.

The jabber on duty is usually quick and efficient and the whole thing runs very smoothly. Well done, NHS. When the blood is being taken, I affect nonchalance while I stare out of the window at the trees.

Occasionally, however I run into a few problems and my arm is jabbed several times without success. Rather like getting blood out of a stone; my veins seem to disappear (according to the jabber on duty).

Today was one such exception. “It’s not you, it’s me,” I said to the operative. “I’m being stingy with my blood today.”

I made a few other expert observations, explaining that my blood was like double cream, not like the easy-pouring stuff. She could squeeze out only a droplet, which wouldn’t satisfy the needs of the people in the lab.

All the same, I thought, looking at that meagre amount in the phial, it would be ample for a television crime scene. “Get this around to the lab for DNA testing, Golding,” the detective would say.

“And put out an all-ports alert for a shifty individual with Elastoplast on his arm.”

Celebrity parish pump

Well, good day to you all. This is old Seth Throttle writing to you from the lovely old village of Nether-cum-Retro. It’s been a funny old autumn so far and that’s a fact. Did you hear that the countryside nowadays is overrun by rock stars, bankers, actresses and models.

Getting all the local gossip in Nether-cum-Retro

I heard all about it in The Three Jolly Aromatherapists when I popped in for my usual lunchtime cup of celeriac froth. Old Smiler Watkins told me. Old Smiler is my style icon, on account of his Manolo Blahnik wellies which he won in the Lammastide raffle at the poodle parlour.

Anyhow, Old Smiler got the latest celebrity village gossip from Mrs Parkin who runs the village Topshop. Everyone goes to Topshop for a bit of a gossip and Mrs Parkin has all the parish pump news, like which local rock star has split from his group to go solo, or what the Dow Jones index has been up to lately.

Now, what else can I tell you has been happening in our little village? Well, there’s been a terrible plague of gameshow hosts lately. I spotted one on Thursday last, up by Ungaro’s helipad, then two days later I flushed out a pair of them in Naomi’s Wood; Mrs Parkin said there’s a flock of them down by Lagerfeld marshes. She can hear them howling in the night.

We have an old saying round these parts: if you get a glut of gameshow hosts at the end of October it means that the Winter Collections are going to be late. You may scoff, but it’s amazing how many of these old sayings turn out to be true. There’s another one I learnt as a child: if the cob nuts are ripe ere Michaelmas ’tis as sure as eggs that hemlines will be shorter and aubergine will be the new black.

There are some country cures as well, for sure. Old Smiler swears that you can make warts disappear if you just rub them with a white truffle. I say caviar works just as good.

So, what’s the other news? Mrs Parkin says that Mr Worthington who lives down at Pig’s Bottom has still got his writer’s block, ever since the film deal fell through. And we’re all invited up to the Big House next Tuesday for a celebration, because the squire’s got a new album coming out.

On Sunday at morning service in church the vicar will be reading out the announcement that the actress and the Channel 4 executive who live at the Old Forge have decided to go their separate ways but will remain good friends.

Sadly, the village Ladies’ Tug of War Team will not be entering the All Hampshire Championships next summer, for the 12th year running, because none of our supermodels has the strength to pick up the rope. Never mind though, we have a record entry for the Best Kept Fingernails Competition. And in next year’s Church Fete we’re expecting old Smiler to win the Bowling for the Ferrari contest.

People often ask me if I have seen many changes in village life. It’s hard to say really. I sometimes think maybe the couture is not as haute as it used to be, but that’s probably just when I’m in a bad mood. Fashions alter, of course. One year it’s the peasant look and the next it’s all angular shapes and big shoulders.

The young people can be a problem. The trouble is, there’s not so many boutiques in the village as in my young days so they get bored and they hang around on the corner outside the delicatessen or go into the organic shop and squeeze squashes. We need more places like Topshop where they can go and try on clothes all day. It’s hard for them when the nearest Accessorize is 13 minutes away by Range Rover.

Still, I mustn’t grumble. When life seems hard I always remember the words of my dear old granny – “Does my bum look big in this?” And it did.

Cheerio.