Ah, just back from doing a turn at the Edinburgh Festival where I was standing by to undersudy a fellow thespian with his musical flatulence act, should he have been found wanting with the low notes. Fortunately for Scotland, my services were not required.
Even so, I'm feeling a bit stiff and scratchy having just scrambled off the night-soil special from Prestwick. Thank goodness I managed to pass myself off as a supernumerary member of the cabin staff and thus travel gratis. Not sure that my bearded visage suited the high heels and pencil skirt but nobody seemed to mind and I did manage to pocket a few bawbees from sales of Festival souvenirs and old beer mats, so good news all round.
Now what have Her Holiness and you Laydeez been up up? The ideas for the Village fete are most encouraging. How about a tug-o-war between the Bo-peeps and all-comers? Perhaps some of the lads and ladettes from Grabitts could be persuaded to put down their loofahs and join in, and the Fat Ladies would add an unforgetable aspect to the proceedings in their bikinis. I'm also thinking that Sven and some of the chaps from the steam-room could don their sailor outfits and help splice the main brace. All we need is a few pounds of beetroot purée and some toad-in-the-hole to jolly things along. Glad to see the the sausages are measuring up nicely already.