For Robbie Burns Night, I shall wear tweed, recite verse, and treat the haggis as one treats modern art: respectfully, but at a distance.

I too briefly considered standing for the Gorton and Denton by-election, until the prospect of canvassing in a sensible shoe put paid to the whole affair.

Prue departs the Bake Off. I do not seek the apron but should the nation require a steady hand and a perfectly judged macaron, I would be willing to be persuaded.

If one is annexing territories this season, I should like first refusal on a quiet corner of Florence in which one may disapprove of things at leisure.

What a year! And it’s only January the 3rd — I’m already in search of a fainting couch and an understanding butler.

The Honeychurches claim they were “at church” during today’s Louvre jewellery heist. A convincing alibi, spoiled only by Freddy jingling like a crystal chandelier.

I very much doubt this will be a good year for the roses. #StormEowyn

To take Lucy’s mind off the encroaching storm, I’ve arranged an impromptu Christmas soirée. The programme includes such classics as ‘In a Bleak Mid-Eager’, ‘Good Mr Beebe Looked Out’ and ‘Away in a Pensione’.🎄

And on line one, we have a call from Charlotte in Tunbridge Wells who has a question for Mr Wallace regarding middle-class women of a certain age.

Advent—a season of waiting and yearning. How intimately I understand the feeling!