A poll published in the Voice of the Lawnmowing Classes on Thursday showed that the Liberal Democrats are the party of the disaffected, don’t knows and the confused The Captain can certainly vouch for the confused bit. Come with me now back to the last election campaign, and the arrival of the redoubtable Baroness Seear one Sunday in Bath to boost Don Foster’s bid to unseat some forgotten Tory figure called Chris Patten. What do you say to that, Captain?” I do not hesitate: “Clearly, Una, New Labour, Nudism”.Do you know, I think the Daily Telegraph might be on to something. “You know this chap Bob Gavron, 66, self-made millionaire, magazine and book printer, just given pounds 500,000 to the Labour Party? Well, he turned up in Provence during my summer villa hopping.

Big crowd, Tessa Blackstone, Brian Lapping, Labour luvvies, a posi- tive sea of linen and non-fiction paperbacks. As soon as he arrived, Gavron took off his clothes and dived into the pool stark naked And so did Mrs Gavron. I have included them after reading Lady Archer, Jeffrey’s wife, confess that the clothes she finds sexiest on a man are shirt sleeves rolled up: “I don’t know why it is so attractive,” she said “Something to do with hairy forearms. It means Jeffrey is about to do some work of some sort – playing the piano or getting down to some writing.” I was also interested to learn that she is trying out a new scent, Soleil, by Fragonard, which interested her “because I work on solar energy conversion”. What a girl!
BBRRNNGG! The bell rings on my instrument, harbinging telephonic communication It is Ms Una Tributable, my political correspondent “Captain!” she shouts. I have some other proposals which would be of help amid the incessant racket of modern times: 1) The silk-bristled toothbrush 2) A total ban on soup 3) Silent ice 4) Tills without bells 5) Trappist house music 6) Did you know that there is a dog, the Basenji, which cannot bark? 7) Goldfish tend towards the taciturn, too Burglar alarms that go “Boo!” 9) Package holidays by glider 10) A curfew in Islington

You might have noticed those manly forearms down there Tough, capable, but with a hint of tenderness They are mine.

Will we yearn for the bygone simplicity of crotch-clinging cycle shorts, Nike trainers, aerobic classes, Blockbuster video shops and health scares? Will our heroes go for healthy nights out to PVC fetish clubs, drop a tab and then rescue veal calves from villainous farmers? Or – as I suspect – will we just be watching archived repeats of Heartbeat?. There you are Come in. Today I want to talk to you about the silent champagne cork, on sale in some champagne bottles from next month. What a good idea! How often have I wished for one at around eleven in the morning when, in delicate mood, I have approached the bottle that effervesces with a hand too unsteady to wield a sabre This abhorrence of noise and din runs in the family. The only thing fresher is the schoolmarm in tight woollies, who is a dead ringer for his lost GP wife, and with whom well-scrubbed consummation in front of a log-fire is surely imminent.