In yet another bid to prevent the great British public from getting royally rat-arsed and – horror of horrors – maybe actually enjoying themselves in this grim, grey wasteland they’ve so generously created for us, the right honourable members of Parliament (members, indeed) are calling for an outright ban on what was once the finest exponent of the British pub trade, the happy hour, as well as cheap supermarket booze.

The good people elected to protect our interests have even proposed putting a minimum price on alcohol. This in particular nearly caused Jeffman to spill his pint.

These sparks of brilliance stem from a committee headed by keen defender of free speech, the publicity shy MP for Leicester East, Keith Vaz, a man who by decree of his very religion is unable to partake of alcohol.

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Three cheers for Dickie Davies. He is the cut of chap that harks back to a more elegant and - dare I say? - a more innocent era. A time when a gent was well within his rights to pepper a young ruffian with buckshot, happen he was to catch such a delinquent youth loitering upon his grounds. Without fear of prosecution, one might add.

This was a time when a cad, and indeed, a bounder was readily accepted into the homes of the troublesome Proles each and every Saturday afternoon, simply because they were aware of his superior breeding and quite rightfully showed the respect that was due.

But there was more to Dickie Davies than just an exemplary bloodline. He was the quintessential English gent and the erstwhile presenter of a World Of Sport. Immaculately turned out at half past midday every Saturday, when the nation’s lower orders were staggering blind drunk out of their public houses and speakeasies, his crystal clear delivery of the Queen’s own English was only matched by a sartorial elegance that was second to none. Even if his perfectly maintained coiffure did give the impression of a man who had just finished painting the ceiling.

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I may have promised mobile phones and hi-technology for the next post, but that’s been postponed for another time to make way for something considerably lower in tech. What will be the start of an ongoing profile of one James Gordon Brown, elected leader of the Labour Party and unelected leader of the United Kingdom.

Now it’s unfair to say that Gordon Brown’s not what it used to be, as I’m sure he’s always been a sack-faced, penny-pinching miser with all the charm and political conviction of a dull spoon.

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