I AWAKE in a cold sweat from a frightful dream. I am in the Clarence Hotel in Dublin and I've just hit the multi-millionaire owner Sir Bono over the head with a posh leather stool before stamping on his posh sunglasses. Take that, you preening, preposterous, pint-sized pixie prat.

The environmental campaigner who had his favourite hat flown across the Atlantic; the anti-famine activist who could easily feed a village or two with the small change from down the back of his couch. The man who put the hip into hypocrite.

Remember that advert? "Every time I click my fingers, another child dies." Well perhaps it might be a good idea to stop clicking them then, you clown.

I can't stand the man, and now he's gone and blagged himself a knighthood. Outrageous, even if it is only one of those dodgy ones we give to foreigners. Arise, Sir Bonio, and then kindly clear off sharpish. And please take that other dishevelled dope, Sir Geldof, with you.

Unfortunately, I haven't even got the energy to properly rail against the disgraceful way NuLabour "leaked" the news of this honour a week before it should be announced. I've seen people sacked before for pulling such stunts. What makes Tone think he can do as he pleases? And to think that some people reckon that giving poor Zara Phillips a gong has brought the whole system into disrepute

  • RELEASED nutters, many of them failed asylum seekers, are murdering people in the streets; the entire Government is mired in corruption and deceit; rampant drug abuse is driving a nationwide crime wave; so what do the cops do? They arrest a bloke for picking berries.

No, really. Ian Blayney, of Lydney, Gloucestershire, was on a canal side walk in Macclesfield, Cheshire, in August when he saw rowan berries growing in an adjacent field. Being a sad sap, he hopped over the fence, filled a plastic bag, and later made a few jars of jam from the proceeds.

He was therefore somewhat surprised three months later to get a knock on the door from Officer Dibble. It appears that a nosy-parker minimum-wage security guard had spotted Mr Blayney climbing over the fence on to private property and had noted his car registration number.

There ensued a three-month manhunt during which Cheshire Police tracked down their man and then asked Gloucestershire Police to feel his collar.

He was taken to the police station, interviewed and then formally cautioned for trespass. I understand that friends and relatives who were given the resultant jam may now be under investigation for receiving stolen goods (actually I made that last bit up, but in this context you can never be sure.) Right, let's make it clear that Mr Blayney was on private property. If someone shinned over my fence and nicked all my tomatoes I wouldn't be very happy. But rowan berries? Since when have they been a valuable commodity?

And am I wrong to suggest that perhaps a phone call warning Mr Blayney of his misdemeanour might have been more appropriate than a visit from two uniformed officers?

  • NOT much of a holiday for the Jokeforce, the Government-funded body set up to provide material for satirical columnists.

No sooner have they been in action in North Yorkshire, where a chap who wanted to organise a Christmas do at the village hall was told that he must display posters warning that the mince pies might contain suet or nuts and that the cocoa content and temperature of his hot chocolate must also be checked, than they're off to Anglesey in Wales to ruin the Christmas of elderly patients in a hospital in Holyhead.

In this instance, they instantly banished the patients' own portable television sets from the wards because "someone might trip over the wires". Cases to date of people tripping over the wires in the past ten years? Zero.

The mostly bed-bound patients have been allowed to bring in their own tellies and DVD players since the unit opened, but a snap inspection by Health and Safety stormtroopers just before Christmas led to the poor old things being unable to watch Pauline keel over in EastEnders or David Platt (surely the Devil Incarnate) lay waste to Gail and Sally's perfect Christmas. So it's not all bad news then...