Now that I am coming to grips with the English language, I am at last in a position to say that my favourite word is “hamper”. Now, I hope you all know what hamper means – for me, anyway, it means oodles of ham, lashings of cream and piles of neenish tarts, which I love. It also means sandwiches, more sandwiches, cream buns, donuts and cheese. My ideal hamper, therefore, would be a very large one indeed. Fortunately for me, I no longer need to dream of such a hamper, because my master informed me this morning when he let me out of my security compound that this Christmas, in addition to my very own ham bone, I will be receiving a giant hamper, which has been donated by a large corporation. They are apparently trying to woo Davey into agreeing to be the face of their new advertising campaign. Ethical issues notwithstanding, I can inform you that this hamper contains all of the things mentioned above. Unfortunately, it also contains a quiche. Eugh. I shall give that to Quito, if he is still alive on Christmas day. I will be spending the rest of today in a song-writing workshop with Stung, who is a gifted flautist.