The quiz last Saturday turned out well and a good night was had by all. Our team managed a credible second place so there you go; congratulations go to the ladies from Witney who pipped us at the post.

Later today the village fete takes place and our ‘Cluedo Derby’ is all set to roll.

Full details of course next week, try and be patient.

B****r me if our chair, the talented Kate, didn’t up and resign this week. She has not been too chipper of late and feels her second year of office is taking its toll. Hope you get back to the rudest of health soon Kate.

Who is taking over is a matter of some conjecture, and they say life is boring in the shires. What….?

So rudderless the Kingston Bagpuize Drama Group ploughs on. Having served a total of I think eight years as chairman over my period of membership I can sympathise with Kate I can tell you.

Moving on, went to see ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof’ last night at Grove. Bravely put on by Stagelights this epic by Tennessee Williams, takes place in a plantation house in America’s deep south as you possibly know, and is a very wordy piece short on action but admiration has to go to the cast for memorising the lengthy monologues required for nearly all the main characters in the play.

For me the production was let down by a poor set some costumes gaffes plus a couple of unbelievable characters but in fairness the part of Big Daddy was superbly portrayed by Ed Richardson who held the audience transfixed throughout the second act, us knowing he still had a terminal disease, him thinking he had a clean bill of health. The scene where Big Daddy winds up his alcoholic son Brick culminating in him spilling the beans as it were to his father about his condition was incredibly moving.

Now apart from my long association with amateur dramatics I also have a burning yearning for politics as regular readers may have picked up. Suffering like most of us from this incompetent government, certainly the worst I remember, and with no sign of our Gordon calling a general election as he should if he had an ounce of self-respect, we are left with an endless list of misdemeanours from our elected representatives in London from both sides of the house. However bearing in mind this government couldn’t run a bath, I guess we are stuck with them right up until they are forced to go to the country next May.

Someone sent me this epic this week, which probably sums up what we are all thinking:

I want a floating duck house

I want to clear my moat

I need to mend my tennis court

That's why I need your vote.

I have to build a portico

My swimming pool needs mending

My lovely plants need horse manure

And the Aga needs much tending

A chandelier is vital

Mock Tudor boards are great

My hanging baskets won awards

And I've earned a tax rebate.

I need a glitter toilet seat.

My piano so needs tuning

Maltesers help me stay awake

And my orchard must need pruning

I could have said the rules were wrong

And often thought I should,

But somehow it was easier

To profit all I could

The public really have to see

That the rules are there to test

And by defrauding taxpayers

We were just doing our best

The Speaker of the House has gone,

Our sacrificial beast,

But the public are still braying

For our corpses at the feast

What do the public want from us,

Those vote-wielding ingrates?

They really should be grateful,

To be financing our estates.

The message is so very clear,

(we're merely learning late)

That the British way of living well

Is to screw the bl**dy state.