i'm off on a state visit tomorrow and will be away for a few days.

i've been invited to be a judge at a yodelling festival and can't find my leather shorts anywhere.

later, i'll be making a speech at a world leaders conference on the food crisis - it's a working lunch.
if any of the waiters sidle up to me and say 'your crackers, your highness', i promise i will make a scene. 

doris is busy trying to zip up her portmanteau while kev the chauffeur sits on it.  i almost asked her why she felt the need to find room for a tin of biscuits, but thought better of it.  she's in one of those panicky packing moods, where it feels like her whole life depends on being able to compress all her possessions into a suitcase the size of wales.

i've told kev to put a big slab of concrete on the bonnet of the royal limo - with the weight she's carrying, we're liable to be driving on the back wheels only. and i've just seen her version of hand luggage, which i estimate would just about fit in one of the toilets on the plane.

as for me, i'm trying to decide the criteria by which i can judge a yodelling competition ... so i've invited a few of the island's cider drinkers round at closing time to give me some practice.  i'll let you know how they get on.