Between courses I've been keeping a weather eye on affairs of state. For example, Milords Mandelson and Myners have been collectively off on one, nailing the Union Flag to the mast in a thinly-veiled reference to the ongoing farce unfolding betwixt Birmingham and Chicago. Apparently Mandy & Co have belatedly realised that if you flog off every British company to the Germans, Japs or Yanks then, yes, you are undoubtedly a shining beacon of free market capitalism in the short term, but what's this? Whoops! They've shut down all the factories and there's nothing left. Doggone.
Fortunately Cadbury still has the pleasantly confused Todd Stitzer in charge, the half-Brit, half-Yank, half capitalist and half Fairtrade evangelist whose defence strategy seems to consist partly of telling the world what a good fit the choccy boys would be with Kraftwerk, Inc., and partly of raising the same notion as a dystopian nightmare. In the short term, Toffee-Totin' Todd's strategy seems to be working as no-one, least of all the waspish Kraftwerk Übergruppenführerin Irene von Rosenbusch, seems to have the foggiest idea what he actually wants. Way to go, Todd, and slip me a finger of Fudge while you're at it.
But back to Brighton, where talking of fingers and fudge I have been cooking up cunning plans, while showing impressionable political totty my stick of rock. And let me tell you, I have been Pumsey through and through. I have worn out my hotel mattress and caused a run on Tesco's new king-size condoms. Having failed to procure fresh ones via an online shop, I have instructed Danaher to bring the Roller round and take me to Tesco directly and not stop until he gets to aisle six!