Moghul struggles on

As part of my rehabilitation I have been asked to form connections with the ordinary, hum-drum working peoples on my estates.

Although it was those very sort, 12 of them in fact, who deprived me of my liberty, I hold no grudges or malice.

Moghul is quite prepared to break bread at the Silver Star or enjoy a pint at the Tut and Shive with even the most grubby commoner. Moghul forgives and forgets.

It has been strange adjusting to life after prison, a part of me yearns for my cosy cell and finds sleeping in the old four-poster quite uncomfortable.

Still, is is good to hold a shotgun again, even if I keep having to tell myself that the modern, socialist dictatorship that we endure these days prohibits the shooting of poachers, scroungers and the undeserving infirm.

If you would like to correspond with me, I have set up an email account at wicked@champnews.com. I will especially happy to hear gossip and wicked whispers of what people are up to, especially those guilty of hypocrisy, political humbug or shenanigans.

The more petty the observation, the more I shall delight. Don't bother telling me about the druglord or murderer, I want to know about the milkman who wears women's clothes or the councillor with an untidy garden.

Time for bed

I believe it may be time to pack up my computer and put my energies into something more worthwhile. The latest reports by Google confirm that no one - not even the dreaded Googlebots — have visited this blog in a over a month.

Not even the ballad of Jim Sharpe brought in a viewer. It appears I have delighted you long enough.

Watching girls in their underwear

Sorry for the lack of blogging recently, I've been occupied with watching YouTube footage of a young woman dancing in her underwear.

Whenever I see an attractive woman now, I instantly press a Nintendo's Wii Fit game into their hands with the suggestion that I will be invited to see the results, once she has had time to master the hula-hoop routine.

The Wii has been a marvel of an invention, but I'd like to see better games on it. What about virtual foxhunting or bash-the-rat?

Any offers?

After growing tired of that Heywood fellow, I sent him packing with one of the "King Edward" cigars I reserve for the servants on Boxing Day.

Before the bounder left, he manged to take £260,000 or more from the petty cash drawer in my study, leaving me short for the weekend.

This lack of ready funds has been compounded by the need to advertise the vacant position in the Sunday Times, whose rates compare unfavorably with the Formby Champion, where I usually place my messages.

Bearing all this in mind, I find I can now only offer a salary of £150,000pa for the Sefton job. I know it's not much, but maybe there's a single young man out there, probably still living at home, who will be able to stretch it out.

I'll bung in use of the rolls on Monday's to sweeten the deal.

Lib Dems wager

After studying an analysis of positive and negative press stories, Lord Moghul has bet on the Lib Dems to come second in the Crewe and Nantwich by-election at very generous 12-1 odds. Don't blame me if it goes wrong, but it's a safer bet than Chelsea to win the Euro Cup.

Dennis must take Holy Orders

My nephew has begun taking the Beano, a publication I thought long gone. Happily it is just as much fun as I remember, with the likes of Minnie the Minx and the Bash Street kids making fools of authority figures like the local mayor with joyful abandon.

As a boy, I preferred to take the Dandy (which is also still on sale), finding Desperate Dan's adventures more exotic than Dennis the Menace. I wonder though whether children still thrill to the sight of a large cowboy eating giant pies?

The only thing I would say that has changed is the quality of drawings, the Numbskulls, for example, are a shadow of their former selves, although Dennis seems to have greater care taken on it than times past.

Dennis has an added poignancy these days, one storyline involved the boy discovering password-protected computer files which proved his softy father was once, like he, a source of menace and anarchy.

As a bowl of pudding few through the air, there seemed a woebegone edge to Dennis' countenance, betraying the realisation that he, too, will grow out of his menacing ways and settle down to a sentient, middle-class existence.

If I was Dennis, though, I would not consider reproducing. The priesthood would be the safest bet.

Beards rule

As master of Sefton I have decreed that only people with beards shall be allowed to hold public office.

Any attempts to depose people (both men and women) with beards will be frowned upon, especially if anyone tries to get rid of Tony Robertson – the man who saved Maghull.