It won't surprise fans of this prominent column to hear that I am a member, and so I have spent many happy hours this week at St John's Wood sampling the finest Aussie wine, which this year has been "aw mate, I never hit it, you bludging pommy dag". But for those retards among you who don't love cricket and hate Australians above and below all things, let's just say that it's Civilisation 1, Convicts 0.

Apparently, the last time England beat the Criminal Underclass at Lords, life expectancy was 23, Spanish flu was the pandemic du jour and Hovis was 2d a bap. Not even DRIP can promise a return to those halcyon days but it does seem that thanks to my efforts the demon inflation is under control. And the supermarkets are beginning to feel the wind in their collective sales. Not for nothing did northern offal emporium Morrisons lead the charge on the stock market this week after Marc Bolan promised that profits would be anything but tripe.

Ah, happy days, for most people at least. Not that I give a flying toss, but it seems Alec the Slippery Salmond is planning an booze tax in North Britain that will hit Scots with a minimum price for their Buckie and Tennent's Super. Given that bevvy accounts for about 80% of the weekly household expenditure of the average Scotsman (leaving only just enough for Mars Bars, lard and batter mix) the tax will increase the cost of living about threefold. Hopefully this will have the knock-on effect of making travel to London unaffordable. Less desirably, though, a further consequence will be plummeting popularity for the SNP and the end of any hope of liberation. For England I mean.

Shame, because dropping the tartan burden would probably allow Darling Alistair to halve English taxes. On which note I do hope you've signed up for Push Back the Tax. Although the beloved editor of The Grocer has just become a father, it seems he's looking for further proof that his organ does work.