Dearest Gentle Reader, the Sussexes are homeward bound, the Chancellor's sums do not add up, and the French have taken to slashing dinghies with knives in the name of diplomacy - today's dispatches arrive with the velocity of a runaway carriage and considerably less dignity. This Author has grave intelligence on a top-secret acting role, a brotherly rift that proximity alone cannot mend, and a national day of silence that demands we set the lorgnette aside entirely. Prepare yourself.

Dearest Gentle Reader, the Sussexes are coming home - and this is not a drill. Also returning, with rather less fanfare, is British summer, which has apparently remembered it owes us a thunderstorm or forty. If you thought today might pass quietly, This Author has a Titanic ride in Hertfordshire that begs to differ.

Dearest Gentle Reader, today's dispatches bring cheaper chocolate, a hot microphone that has embarrassed the Cabinet, and a thirteen-year-old prince photographed in a suit with his hands in his pockets - which is either a sign of great composure or a very good tailor. This Author has opinions on all of it, and decorum will restrain only some of them.