I'd like to draw a veil over last week's proceedings. In fact, given the week was spent cavorting naked around a Caribbean beach with the ocean of puffy white subcutaneous fat that constitutes the great and the good of UK Retail plc, I'd like to have drawn a very physical veil over it all. But the DRIP circus rolls on, and this week my transglobal taxpayer-funded jollyday finds me in the heart of the Amazonian rainforests, looking for new ways to melt orang-utans into automotive fuel.

At least, that's what I thought it was going to be. But it turns out it's rather the opposite: consumers the length and breadth of Islington are appalled at the plight of the pug-ugly apes that are finding their way into pop tarts and microwave lasagne back in Blighty.

What I don't get is this: if people are really so concerned about lower-order primates, how come they let Woolworths go tits up earlier this year? And if it's ginger-haired simians that are in danger, well, maybe Bondy should get that promotion he so longs for.

Anyway, this particular gig was all about social responsibility, or rather it was all about being seen to CARE about eco-stuff. So Rosey was well to the fore, banging on about how there was no Plan 'B' (by the look of the numbers, Stewie, there seems to be a half-arsed Plan 'D' though).

Peter Marks was also prominently spreading the corporate lurve and trying to offload stock so ancient that even the Co-op can't shift it. And, somewhere in the far, far distance behind a gaggle of spin doctors, there was Lewshie Neville-Rolfe, explaining how Tesco reduces global warming by bulldozing the rainforests for palm oil. And all this dressed in traditional Peruvian garb at least her advisers had prevented her from appearing in her Brazilian.

The day came to a satisfactory end, though, when the "I'm a Celebrity" film crew showed up and I raised the drawbridge on the Pumserian Lear Jet with the retail glitterati firmly landside. Hope they like maggots.