It was rather touching to see Bondandybond's swansong last week. I wasn't actually there of course since a) I don't do Yorkshire and b) Gordo has banned ministers from all forms of intercourse that he does not personally have a hand in. As it were.

Talking of which, it now appears that Corporal Clegg is on course to shaft simultaneously the ambitions of both Gordissimo and the Boy David, as is his wont: he is a self-professed serial shagger, he once bragged, and it seems these attributes have rendered him more popular than Winston Churchill.

But back to losers. And my spies tell me you could almost see the vultures circling Bondy's russet brow as he spelled out his comedy plans for whichever poor sod is to fill his Clarks Flip Skate Juniors. Rather drolly he suggested that Asda will now actually build those Living stores instead of just thinking about it very hard indeed, and will thus in all certainty overtake Tesco in the non-food stakes in a matter of, ooh, no time at all.

There was just a hint of pathos about this, since a single-minded focus on crapness in non-food is thought to be one of the main seeds of the Ginger Ninja's demise. But I guess it's like an outgoing Prime Minister signing vexatious executive orders just to piss off his successor, while smearing superglue on the bog seat.

Meanwhile, our noble press were doing their damnedest to assuage public concerns over the latest Icelandic disaster. With shortages of mooli radish and pepinos imminent, there could have been riots on the streets of Islington and mass closures and deprivation in the humble souks of Knightsbridge.

But a timely word in the ear of Dame Deirdre Hutton once the scion of food, more recently shutting the skies as Commander of the Civil Aviation Authority seems to have saved the day: I told her I had it on good authority the volcanic ash was, in fact, nothing more than granola. It seemed to do the trick.

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