I will leave you, if I may, with a few pensees: firstly, I have discovered a divine new drink. It is called a Red Lion (Grand Marnier, Gin, orange juice, lemon juice, serve with ice and orange peel) and one is not enough. Secondly, there was a radio programme about Clement Attlee this week; did you hear it? It absolutely brought into relief all my hatred for Mr and Mrs Jacqui Smith who, it now transpires, also claimed 22p for a biro and 18p for a shower-cap. This is on top of the 88p bath-plug, you will remember. Can you imagine Mr Attlee doing anything so cheese-paring? And as for expecting the State to pay for his porn! Really, the whole thing is beyond reason.
Just two more things: the fine weather is with us in the Thames Valley. Any women thinking of baring their legs should get Fake Bake (House of Fraser, Reading, have a well-run concession, just next to the Benefit counter) or pay a visit to Tan-fastic of Pangbourne. I saw many vile sights this morning, including potato-juice thighs and various varicose; and the young women are just as lackadaisical as Those Who Should Know Better. Skirts CAN be too short. Just because someone is 19, it doesn't necessarily follow that their arse-cheeks should be en valeur. I looked around to see men recoiling in horror, but there weren't any. Au contraire, they were transfixed. This is a sharp lesson for those of us who believe that the savage breast hides a noble heart. It doesn't. Finally, I saw a horrifying car-bumper sticker in the Waitrose car park, of all places. It said: Here's to the Kisses I've Snatched and Vice Versa. Appalling. And in WAITROSE, too! Can you imagine the loathsome standard they must suffer in the Lidl car park, for example, or Aldi. Whatever happened to We Have Seen The Lions Of Longleat? Or I Slow Down For Horses? Why do we not see Running In Please Pass any more (home-made, usually written on the lid of a shoebox)? We live in vulgar times. That is the long and short of it.