By Jingo sir, it's The Dandy Pickle

They seek him here, they seek him there. He is unlikely to be located in Leicester Square. But mark my words, fellow followers of the epicurean arts, he has arrived. My latest adventure will be revealed to the world soon. Hang on to your pantaloons.

I'm a clogger not a blogger

Just been lent my first clogs for my Morris dancing debut in October. Don't worry, if I take to it, I will be having a pair hand made, hand tooled and festooned with an abundance of bell. You've got to start somewhere though and these modest fellas will do the trick while I learn the ropes/steps.

A load of bullocks

I'm reminded every morning when I look out of my window about how much I hate living in the city, and in particular, the suburbs. As soon as I could, I moved to the hills. I know I'm very lucky. Bullocks courtesy of  Farmer Dave Lowcock.

I scream, you scream — we all scream for ice cream

Coming second in an ice cream eating competition is a bit like that card in Monopoly — 'you have won second prize in a beauty contest'. I am not down in the dumps, however. There is no disgrace in being pipped at the post by a ponytailed human Dyson. And anyway, I was given this car as a prize.

Tally-ho and pip-pip

I attended my own private, imaginary regatta at the weekend — no boats involved at all. The lovely Bev, our milk lady, picked Lady Norkington and me up in her bright pink Land Rover with the words 'girls just wanna have fun' emblazoned on the side. Quelle hoot.

A friend of Morris

Last night was a first and a life enhancing experience for me as I made my first faltering skips towards fully fledged Morrisdom in a scout hut in Whittle le Woods. And I have to thank my new found chums of the Royal Preston Morris Dancers for introducing me to the English 'martial art'. Look out for me in traditional clogs and natty velvet cap hopefully in the not too distant future merrily frolicking and waving a stick outside a pub near you. And wish me luck as I embark upon a pastime which apparently, according to some sources, along with bum sex, is listed among activities that a man should never ever try. I'm just going to concentrate on the dancing for the time being.

Now you see me, now you see me

When the beautiful Lady Norkington agreed to marry me, a phone call to Guy Hills of Dashing Tweeds in London ensured that I was going to be one of the snazziest grooms in town. The tweed also features an invisible strand that lights up in the dark. I am not joking.