"The BBC?" you ask.

Well the good lady has taken to broadcasting to the nation through the medium of the wireless (not your modern 'wireless', all that blue teeth malarkey, but your proper humming valves wireless).

The amount of prepared notes that she took would have puckered Lord Reith's oratory arse but in the end it was just a couple of 'soundbites' ('soundbites!' get me, I've gone all media!).

They wouldn't let me in.
"When are you going to pay me for all the comedy scripts I sent in? You fekkers!" I shouted through the letter box towards the corridor that houses the commissioning editors.

Well that's your showbiz update, we're off down the Garrick Club for a late supper.