I haven't yet heard from the editor of this proud organ but I feel sure a letter of thanks for earning him the title of Least Supine Lickspittle in Trade Publishing must be on its way. It's the least I can expect in my ministerial postbag. No - it's the only missive I can expect as this parliament peters to a pointless close.

It's only just occurred to me that all my achievements enshrined in the DRIP motto "Sedit qui timuit ne non succederet" (which roughly translates as "Those who fear they will not succeed sit on their arses") could come to naught. In the meantime, my former sparring partner Archie Abnorman is bringing his considerable talent for drama to the world of television (pile those beans higher, higher!). And the glistening Boy David marches inexorably towards Number 10.

Also glistening, and also heading for greater things, is Marc Bolan. Originally of T-Rex fame, he was thought to have perished in a car accident, but resurfaced at Morrisons (revived via the meat counter no doubt).

And now he's off to Marks & Sparks. How the (old) lady shareholders of M&S will cheer. King Justin was never going to cut it (too small). And Bondandybond was always going to be too ginger to fit the blue-rinse bill.

Bolan, however, has aged well and where Rosey now resembles a Stu all too literally, the 20th Century Boy has matured into a melting, dry-cured morsel. The king of smooth is dead; long live the new hunky Hollander.

The only concern Pumsey has is over Bolan's attire. How long can he remain dashing? He has eschewed non-food for all this time, conveniently enabling him to look dapper while his rivals grub around in suits from George, Fred and other brands with names (and cuts) inspired by the Blitz. And now he's flogging skanky M&S suits.

Still, there are perks. It surely won't be long before he's fending off the adoring shareholder mob and their Faitrade M&S knickers. Expect Jeremy Paxman to take a front seat.