The Army

There has been some discussion lately about how the army is no longer held in the same esteem by the public. This is mostly because there are no famous soldiers any more. By way of illustration, I have a nephew who called his eldest son Gadaffi as he was the only British trained soldier the poor chap had heard of. This is what comes of allowing the lower orders to take positions of command. It started to go wrong when Lord Kitchener and Field Marshall Haig got the blame for World War 1. By the time the second war came about we had to put up with that little oik Montgomery just because he won occasionally and didn't get all of his men killed in the process.

My own family, of course, has a proud naval tradition. One of my ancestors was a contemporary of Captain Bligh who sailed the South Pacific until his crew mutinied in protest at his constant renditions of “There is Nothing Like a Dame.”

On another note I have had to stop shopping at my local village store since they bought their new till which uses a barcode scanner. It just isn't suitable for the countryside. Yesterday Jemima was in to buy a large cucumber and was overcharged when they accidentally scanned a passing badger!

Not Cricket!

I read with dismay that the new Indian Premier League has been a great success. This involves a new version of cricket which was invented in England a few years ago and which only lasts of a couple of hours, like football or rugby or something like that and which has now taken over the cricketing world being played by teams called the Kolkatta Knight Riders. Don't these people know that cricket isn't supposed to be about entertainment? It is supposed to be the supreme test of sporting endurance – for the spectator. Frankly people who want a match that takes less than a working week to conclude are nothing short of soft.

And the old standards of gentlemanly conduct have long been in decline. Long gone are the days when the new batsman would be applauded to the wicket by the opposing team. I well remember attending my first Test Match as a boy. England were being led by Walter Hiscock.

As he came out to bat, the captain of the visiting Australians, Roger Pink, gave Hiscock a cheery wave from mid-off, setting the tone for the match. Later, when Hiscock got his fifty, the bowler Alf Long took Hiscock by the hand and gave his customary firm shake.

When the England skipper got out next ball (I can still hear the radio commentary as if it were yesterday “Hiscock is out!) there was no gloating from the Australians who cheerfully applauded their adversary from the field. Oh for the days of Hiscock, Long and Pink!

Language

I was talking today with an old friend, Henry Corweigh, who is an emeritus professor (retired) of English at Merton College Oxford. I told him about my recent observations of the corruption of our great language. Henry surprisingly disagreed. He is of the opinion that the English language has always been absorbing words from other languages. He gave me some examples. Willow (pron will-o), which is the American word for willy, menage á trois, which is French for in your dreams mate and aide de campe, which is the word for Graham Norton's helper.

And more than that, Henry said, the English language is constantly evolving and words often develop new meanings. Politics, for instance, means a parrot with a nervous twitch while shampoo is the word for a fake turd.

At that point I called for matron.

Branding

I met an old friend for lunch today who has been working in management consultancy. He told me his company has been considering changing its internal branding. I misheard and loudly poo-pooed the idea, believing that branding ones employees was over the top in this day and age, and doing it internally would pose considerable logistic difficulties that wouldn't be cost-effective. I had misunderstood – by branding he was meant letterheads and suchlike – it was merely one of those Americanisms

When I hear such Americanisms I always feel like a man who has had something he lent a friend returned in less than top nick – we gave them a perfectly nice language and they've given it back to us all mangled and battered and now we have to make use it as best we can because we can no longer afford a new one. Historically, of course, the rot started to set in when we stopped using Iambic Pentameter. And what on earth was wrong with manuscript?

Television

I read with pleasure that the Chief Executive of Channel 4, who is called Andy Duncan, has awarded himself a small pay rise of 100%. Some people have already complained, of course – how typical of our time that someone who is doing his best to better himself can be so thoughtlessly attacked. It isn't his fault that so many people let themselves get robbed blind by Richard and Judy's phone scam, is it?

Of course I am old enough to remember a gentler time, before such things as television were commonplace. On long winter nights we used to huddle around the piano, wishing that one of us could play it. So when Logie Baird invented Television, with the help of his little companion Boo Boo, he found an eager audience. I remember when we used to gather around that old wooden box and peer at the fuzzy grey face inside. And then, television arrived. So we popped the lid back on granny's coffin and watched that instead. It was a paraffin television. It wasn't bad, bud the picture got cloudy whenever you turned the wick up.

And it has proved a great success. As Lord Reith so presciently forecast, “At least it will take people's minds off cooking and gardening.”

Merchant Bankers

Good news on the financial front. And well done Alisdair Darling for being courageous enough to agree to help the banks with massive amounts of taxpayer's money and not be put off the small matter of it being their own fault that they've lost all that money. I hear people say, “but what about the poor?” Well the banks want to help the poor too, you know. They've being trying to help them for years by lending them astronomical sums. How were the banks to know that the poor didn't have any money to pay it back?

And we must also consider the question of indirect benefits. If city bankers don't get their bonuses then they can't spend them – the knock on effects would be incalculable. The high class escort business would be devastated! They've cut the price of a bottle of Bollinger and it's already hideously easy to get a table at all of the most exclusive restaurants in the City!

On the subject of food, that Nigella Lawson makes a wonderful sticky tart! Lady Collar agrees, although she really prefers ice cream. She told me how much she enjoys licking the nuts off a large Neapolitan.

I do try to stay off the puddings, however – I have to watch my waistline! The subject has been the talk of the office recently as my PA, Jemima, says that her boyfriend has put on a little weight lately and now has a pronounced pot belly. Apparently he has some pretty weird theories to explain it but she isn't convinced. She says she just can't see where he's coming from.

PR

I've been helping my old friend Max Moseley with his PR as he has been trying to recover from the recent very unfair criticism he has received from the press. He has given an interview to the Telegraph which I think will help a great deal. I told him to play up the family angle – they fell for it hook line and sinker, printing Max's accusation that the press had upset his family terribly by telling them about his kinky sex romps. Of course, in Max's words, if he hadn't done it then there would have been nothing for them to find out, but that's not the point. Max also raised the real scandal in all this – the fact that one of the prostitutes sold the tapes to the press – a shocking breach of trust, as Max pointed out in the interview. Who could imagine that a prostitute could possible do such a thing – for money!

Max did such a fine job that one can only contemplate with regret the fact that this upstanding man was denied the chance to follow his father into the world of politics just because of his family name - we are the poorer for it.

I've been offering advice to quite a few people in the public eye recently - Like the sports minister Gerry Sutcliffe who got into a bit of bother recently when he appeared to contradict government policy on Post Office closures. “No problem,” I told him, and I gave him a script which would get him off the hook. I was so proud of him as I heard him proclaim on the Radio that, “My comments did not accurately reflect my views.”

I'm thinking of branching out into America. That fine young chap Barak Obama doesn't need my help, though. He's already got the best slogan in politics, “Yes We Can”. I understand he borrowed it from Bob the Builder, although Bob's version was more specific about what it was that we can do, ie. Fix It. Maybe that's what the Senator is getting at – he's going for the Dubya school of electioneering. Or perhaps he is the new JFK!

We also heard the shocking news that John Prescott has suffered from Bulimia for 10 years. It is important that publications like this do not make jokes about this very serious subject. It is also unnecessary – you can all do your own!

Ventriloquists and Soldiers

I was asked by the British Broadcasting Corporation to offer a few reminiscences about my days in showbusiness back in the Fifties for a radio show they are putting together. I told them about my days working with Peter Brough, the ventriloquist. He wasn't very good. When you saw him listening to his dummy, Archie Andrews, you could see his ears move.

I visited my local territorial army base yesterday in my role as honourary chairman of the local Armed Services Benevolent Society. One of the soldiers, who has done a tour of Iraq, explained to me why he had volunteered. “I just wanted to fight in the war so badly”

“You're in luck,” I replied, “A war hasn't been fought this badly since Field Marshall Haig launched his great offensive at Ypres with the aim of moving his drinks cabinet five feet closer to Berlin.”

Of course in my political days I was talked of as a possible Defence Secretary. They stopped me, I'm afraid, claiming there was a conflict of interest. Just because I made a small profit selling tear gas to Pinochet!

Hospitals

I heard a sad story today about an IT programmer who passed away in hospital after his life support machine malfunctioned. His dying words were, “have you tried switching it off and switching it on again?”

It put me in mind of the time shortly after the last war when I assisted in giving emergency first aid to a rugger team mate who had dislocated his shoulder in a particularly vicious scrummage. We rushed him to the nearest doctor – by doctor I mean proper, Harley Street doctor, of course! - who instructed me to hold young Barry down while he wrestled the offending limb back into place, amidst much loud screaming from Barry, who was Welsh, after all.

A woman looked into the room – the Doctor introduced her as a midwife – who remarked that she had been attending a birth along the hall. She said that the woman had given birth to an eleven pound baby after being in labour for 12 hours and had got through it without half the fuss that Barry had made. “Ah Yes,” said the doctor, “But you want to try pushing it back in.”

Scandal!

I read that somebody has been accused of attempting to blackmail a member of the Royal Family over allegations that he engaged in a homosexual act! I should think that there wasn't much left that one Royal or another hasn't done so I can't imagine why those chaps thought anyone would be willing to pay to keep this latest one quiet. And anyway when you think of the various megalomaniacs, psychotics and lunatics who have been numbered amongst the ranks of the world's royal houses a little bit of sexual misbehaviour hardly sounds that serious. It is only our time's particular fascination with things that happen south of the border which makes such stories newsworthy at all. It did, however, put me in mind of a time when I very nearly got caught up in just such a scandal, perfectly innocently of course!

I was enjoying a fine holiday in Thailand when I encountered a pretty little thing who's charms, I am ashamed to admit, I found myself unable to resist. Especially when she whispered seductively in my ear, “you want slippy slippy?”

Only she turned out to be the widow of Lord Boy, if you get my drift. Imagine my shock when I lifted up her frock and found myself looking at the last turkey in the shop! I made my excuses and left, a sadder but wider man.

Honourable Members

Yesterdy I attended a Charity dinner. They cooked the vegetables the old fashioned British way – if you can count them they are not done yet. We were talking about our esteemed politicians in the House of Commons, a natural enough topic of conversation given my history as an Honourable Member. My successors have been rather letting the side down recently by getting caught with their hands in the till.

It really is quite unfair to blame Members of Parliament for this – in the old days we were able to quietly accumulate as much moolah as possible from their Directorships with ICI and BP, and by doing the odd favour for legitimate businessmen from, say Saudi Arabia, helping them get a perfectly above board arms deal. But then the country decided that they wanted ther MP's to spend all their time sitting in TV studios and even constituency offices so it is only natural that they will need to make up the lost income from the taxpayer. But people just won't accept that! Modern Britain just doesn't have the same respect for its elected officials. Of course the rot really set in with Neville Chamberlain who was never given the credit he deserved. He did so much, after all, to redevelop Britain's run down inner cities by failing to stop World War Two.

The beneficiary of the function, by the way, was an old Almshouse which needs restoration. Its motto was 'Bring me your Old, your Poor and your Impotent'. Well the old and the poor turned up, but the impotent couldn't come.

Airports

The chaps at Heathrow have been having a few problems lately. I think the media's attitude has been most unfair. I only travel by private jet, of course but if one is not so fortunate as I (which will apply to almost all of you, of course!) then you simply must accept a few lost bags. It's not the end of the world, is it? It is certainly unfair to blame the my good friend Willie, who is only the Chief Executive of BA after all. He can't go and sort the bags himself, you know!

I was discussing the subject with my old friend Lionel today. Can you believe that he wasn't very sympathetic to BA at all! But then the poor old chap has been bit down on his luck lately, I am sorry to relate; it seems that he's having some 'liquidity problems' if you know what I mean. Well, the divorce has been expensive. The court took a dim view of his 'snooker lessons' from the British Women's Open champion. Apparently he spent all his time trying to pot the pink. I'm starting to worry if the stress is getting to him. I took him to lunch and he afterwards he asked if he could bum me for twenty pounds! I declined, as you can imagine. We all know where that sort of thing leads, don't we – welfare dependency!

Before I go, I have to apologise to one of my readers who misunderstood one of my recent posts when I told the story of the time my veterinarian recommended that my cat needed pills, which were to be taken as suppositories. I advised that I found that you could make a modest saving on vets bills by using a biro to push them up yourself. Mrs. Handcart, I apologise most profusely for the misunderstanding. I hope you are sitting more comfortably now and that the surgical cushion I sent you is helping. I must say, though, that your letter of complaint was very difficult to read!

corporal punishment

It is sometimes suggested, normally by socialists, that corporal punishment is damaging. I beg to differ.

In my experience, Nanny would often administer sound thrashings and it never did me any harm, although it did make me late for high tea at the club this afternoon. There I met my good friend Max, who's having a few problems at the moment so, to take his mind off it, I offered to take him loster fishing at the weekend. Now, this may surprise you but when I go lobster fishing I always take my young personal assistant Jemima, although I would normally say that the open sea is no place for the fairer sex! But she has an excellent memory and always remembers where we left our lobster pots – it is where she tossed a large buoy over the side on the way out.

Jemima is a rather good cook as well, which is a blessed relief after Lady Collar's cooking, I should say! She does a rather fine lobster, as it happens. Some claim that killing them by dropping them into boiling water is cruel. Nonsense! The lobsters enjoy it and it is more humane than shooting them. I think for afters we shall sample some of Jemima's rather fine melons. Insist on the Afghan variety!

Formative Years

People ask me from whence comes my trademark erudition. It was, of course, courtesy of a traditional British education founded squarely on the 3 Rs – Reading, Writing and Spelling. And of course in my day you couldn't matriculate without passing a strict test in Reading, which is a nice enough town, although why they made us go all way over there was never fully explained. After that I went up to Cambridge where I had a lovely weekend.

Then, still back in the seventies, I joined Her Majesty's Constabulary, which wasn't all fun and games. In fact it was nothing like those recruitment advertizements I remember from my childhood; the one with the funny little chap with the big nose, the crocodile and the string of sausages. There was an embarrassing occasion when we had one of our unmarked cars stolen. It took months to find it, what with the search being hampered because we couldn't issue a description. It was a Special Branch vehicle and we didn't want anyone to know what it looked like.

Not long afterwards, I arrested a woman shoplifter outside the local Italian restaurant who a whole salami hidden in her underwear. When I questioned her she explained that she was missing her Italian boyfriend. Which just goes to show that one shouldn't always expect the worst.

I left the police not long afterwards and started my political career, as I no longer recognized the country I was living in.