All my friends, for some reason believing it's been my birthday (it was - Thursday - 68 but look 30) have been buying me meals in fabulous and expensive restaurants.

Culminating with Arthur, Steffi and their lovely daughter Sofia taking me to The Crown, in deepest Oxfordshire, for a marvellous lunch on Saturday; fantastic Jerusalem artichoke soup and the best risotto I've had in ages; Sancerre; and afterwards a walk across the green to a cottage with hens laying warm eggs, two of which I fried for breakfast this morning.

My French friends live in the Champagne district near Reims and sent me a gorgeous Birthday Card which, when opened, pops the cork on a cardboard bottle and pours it, complete with glug glugging sounds, into a glass!

It's only yer old pimp Rupe's made Mob-Rule media that don't lurve ya lovey-ducky.

So, no one important then.

God save The KINGofHIT$ !

thats the kind of thing my 4 year old child tells me

you nearly 70?

I'm sorry you despise your own child Rennie. Seek help.