Let me start by dedicating today’s thoughts to a young chum called Melisa.  It appears that she and her father enjoy reading my blog together and may I congratulate them on an excellent choice of an improving bedtime story for any young person.

I used to read my own children tales from the comic ‘Viz’ , especially the one called ‘Spoilt Bastard’ hoping in vain they would spot the similarities and change their ways.  Another top source was ‘Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes’ – you think that’s an invention?  Google it and send me a tenner.  Still in print, people.

Young Melisa labours under the rather appealing belief that given a choice Boris Johnson would marry her rather than me. (A notion up there with unicorns and Santa)  If he did, young lady, it would be a welcome sign that he had at last managed to contain at least one of his more ridiculous ambitions.  Let us simply recall that George Clooney even named one of his twins after me which was a sweet gesture but ever so faintly needy.

Now on to more important matters.  Christmas is survived and the turkey only a thing of memory.  Despite having persuaded me to send thousands of pounds on pate, cheeses, hams and other over-priced victuals the children spent the entire festive period on a diet of Turkish Delight and Quality Street.

(I myself ate mainly sherry trifle – I’m an adult.  And incidentally did not gain an ounce of weight.  Could this at last be the Holy Grail of dieting?)

They have, if nothing else, a respect for British traditions which means that there are ample provisions for my forthcoming party which I have decided, in a flash of inspiration that is my trademark, is to be gin based.

Who doesn’t love gin and haven’t I got enough bottles to float the Titanic?  All I have to do is get a few mixers (Although that is probably unnecessary), slice some lemons and passion fruits, fill the ice bucket and we’re sorted.  It will be a sophisticated event, quite unlike the wine-based brawl of last year and we will no doubt compare tasting notes and toast the eventual happy outcome of the Brexit fiasco.  An result possibly up there with Melisa’s fairies.

Let me finish by replying to all of you who have wondered why yet again I have not been mentioned in the New Year’s Honours.  Because that’s not why I reach out to you, readers, not for temporal reward.  All I ever hope for is that I bring a little comfort and joy into your  lives in an educational, inclusive and above all, caring way.  Fingers crossed for next year.

And let’s hope it is good for us all.  Happy 2019 one and all.