Leo Marsh

Orange mobile users can download a game that replicates Etch-a-Sketch on the screen.

Part of me thinks this is great. Another part of me is looking at the first part and thinking, “What a complete arse.”

She may be gone, but she’s still in the news. All this week The Sun has been printing the revelations of some spiritual healer friend of hers. Di had sex with JFK Junior, she says. And, she says, Di had sex with her Asian doctor partner the day her divorce came through. I’ve missed one or two front pages this week, and so I’m afraid I may have missed one or two of her alleged bedmates.

Plus, Andrew Morton’s got another Diana book out.

Don’t you sometimes wish there were an alternative universe to which we could all escape? A place where no one had ever heard of The Mail, The Sun, and Hello magazine? In that wonderful world, dear readers, the pubs would always be open, but no one would ever be drunk. People would not drive while talking into their mobiles, Big Brother would be nothing more than a concept from a George Orwell novel, and Alan Titchmarsh would still be a council parks employee Somewhere Up North.

Petrol doesn't really exist, you know. It's all a big con.

Years ago, they figured out how to make cars run on air. Let's face it, when did you last actually SEE petrol? You go to the petrol station, put the pump in the tank, and stop when the dial reaches the amount you need. Or rather, the amount you think you need, because you don't actually see it go in.

You're paying for nothing, my friends. It's all a con. They've got us. If we don't buy petrol, the automatic cut-outs they've secretly fitted to our engines will kick in, and we'll be stranded. "Oh dear, we've run out of gas," we'll say. (Well, if we're American, that's what we'll say.)

But we haven't run out of gas. It's Big Brother.

Next week - the Big Curry Theory.

... it's the knowledge that when he finally hangs up his racket, he's going to join all the other British ex-hopefuls in the BBC commentary box.

Make room around the microphone, Mark Cox, Sue Barker, John Lloyd and Virginia Wade! Tim needs a bit of room.

And yes, yes, I KNOW Virginia Wade won the title once. I was there that day, in fact. But she beat Betty Stove to win it, and Betty was built like (and moved like) the cooking device after which she was named.

It was the semi that was Virginia's blinder - she beat Chris Evert, which was some achievement.

But if you remember that far back, you'll recall that whenever Virginia was on court, we spent most of our time not so much willing her to win as willing her second serve over the net.

Heinz has bought HP Sauce. They've met on the plate for years, and now they meet in the boardroom.

I reckon traditional fears about the Americanisation of British institutions are unlikely to be realised here. Heinz hasn't messed with our baked beans, so they're unlikely to mess with HP Sauce, or with Lea & Perrins, which also comes as part of the deal.

I don't know about you, but HP Sauce and Lea & Perrins are defining characteristics of Britishness for me.

Those, and M&S underpants. Any other suggestions?