Dearest Gentle Reader, this Sunday has served up a tiger, a taskforce, and a King's most pointed warning - and that is merely where matters begin. The skies blazed with celestial colour whilst the corridors of power grappled with questions of justice, immunity, and the perennial English terror of an impending winter. Read on, if you dare face the full picture.

Dearest Gentle Reader, this Saturday brings a donation so vast it has left This Author recounting zeroes, a parliamentary vote so close it hinges on sixteen souls, and a conservation effort so peculiar it involves a gooey mollusc and a garden greenhouse. The ton has been busy - and the masks, it seems, must come off.

Dearest Gentle Reader, this Friday brings a revenge served in black silk, a parliamentary vote that has reduced this Author to uncharacteristic solemnity, and a guilty plea twenty-eight years in the making - all of which together suggest that justice, like fashion, operates entirely on its own schedule. There is also the small matter of nineteen families in the West Midlands living from their car boots, which quite puts the ton's usual complaints into perspective. Your lorgnette is required.