No, I won't be "lightening up" any time soon, so you can keep your patronising homilies for your semi-detatched, suburban-lite, Daily Mail coffee mornings.

Yesterday I was actually thinking of calling Lawrence / Frank for confirmation that he was taking the piss out of the fatuous, middle-class equivalent of fiddling while the eternal city was on fire, but decided that surely nobody actually fritters away their time solving tedious, turgid, timewasting anagrams as an end in itself. While they could, after all, admit that they just can't be arsed to try and change things, they won't cos that's just not in their strategy and tactics. Like they'll trot along to Tory Bozza's free St George's fest because it's simpler to get to than the Tolpuddle commemoration and kid themselves with "Oooh, it's just like 1965" and remain blind to the economic and social cataclysms thundering around them.

But hold on, you're telling me that there are those who try to turn their pointless, anodyne non-activity into a virtuous excuse for doing sod all at best and assuming the status quo will go on and on and on . . . Are these, I wonder, the very same plastic holograms who sit in serried ranks at Cambridge doing Sudoku? Sounds like a stereotypical failing of the brainwashed descendants of Thatcherism to me.