I’m sure he means well, fans, but my friend Bumble the Badger has a most irritating habit. Of course in actual fact he has many irritating habits, but the one that drives me absolutely crazy is his constant practice of tidying up after me every time he comes over. I mean, really – do I need a nanny? I think NOT!

Take yesterday, for example. I was in the living room, right in the middle of an extremely important project – namely, sorting photos of myself into piles for the best-selling autobiography that I’m preparing to write for my many international fans. Unfortunately for me, however, it was at this very moment that Bumble decided to pop in for a cuppa. Clearly he was in a chatty mood, since he followed me into the kitchen talking non-stop in highly excitable tones, and waving his arms about most vigourously. So I got two mugs out of the cupboard and spooned in the coffee and sugar, while he nattered on and on about some rabbit he knew, who had bought a winning lottery ticket and now didn’t know what to do with the money. To be fair, I wasn’t paying much attention to the rabbit’s dilemma. All I was thinking was, if I’d won that lottery, I would have no such problem!

Anyway, while Bumble was chattering away I put the kettle on and took the milk out of the fridge… only to find that when I turned round again, there were no mugs! Wondering where they had gone, I opened the cupboard to see if perhaps I had only imagined taking them out after all. But no! There they were, placed neatly back on the shelf with the coffee and sugar still inside! So I took them out again and put them next to the kettle, ready for when it boiled. In the meantime I got out a cake to serve with the coffee, and then rummaged around in the drawer for a suitable knife to cut it with. At this point the kettle finally came to the boil, so I left the cake to one side and poured some hot water into our mugs. But when I reached for the milk to finish making the drinks, to my surprise and annoyance, it was gone. Predictably, it had found its way back into the fridge, meaning I now had to get it out for the second time! But before I could complete this frustrating process the phone rang, and so after a few moments, Bumble left me alone in the kitchen and went back by himself to the living room….

Well, the caller turned out to be another really chatty friend who kept me on the line for half an hour, and at the end of this time, quite naturally I was gasping for a cup of coffee and a nice piece of cake. But when I looked up, there was no sign of either the drinks or the cake. It seemed that Bumble had disposed of the lot, then washed up the crockery, put everything away, and wiped all the surfaces clean!

By now I was rapidly losing my cool, but as I emerged from the kitchen I unexpectedly crossed paths with the badger coming the other way. He seemed in a hurry, and pushing past me he paused only to say, ‘Sorry, Grumpkin, got to dash, I should have been at the dentist’s ten minutes ago! Oh, and by the way, I’ve tidied up for you…’

Tidied up? OH, NO!

As I gazed round the living room, I hardly recognised the scene before me. Gone were my dirty plates and mugs that had adorned the mantelpiece for the last week. Gone were my assorted research books and papers which had been strewn over the floor to help me with my work. And worse than that – gone were all my precious photographs, vanished without a trace!

‘Stop Bumble, stop!’ I cried, running to the door to shout after him. ‘You can’t rush off like this without telling me where everything is! What have you done with my photos?’ The badger turned his head, hesitating as a frown flitted across his face. ‘Your photos?’ he repeated slowly. ‘Ah, yes, now I remember. I think there were some old photos in the waste bin that I emptied just now.’
‘Oh, good,’ I said, greatly relieved, ‘so where are they?’
‘Well, I put them with the rest of the rubbish, didn’t I,’ said the badger, who seemed rather surprised to be asked.
‘Yes, yes – and where’s that?’ I went on eagerly.
‘Really, Grumpkin, you do ask some silly questions!’ he replied with a snort. ‘Where else do you and I put our recycling rubbish? In the fire, of course, to save on heating costs!’

As you know, dear fans, I am of course a multi-award-winning angler, so imagine my delight when an American friend of mine invited me to go on a fishing trip to Brighton Pier. I mean, here was my first ever chance to get a taste of sea fishing, as different from lake and river fishing as coffee is from tea! So I naturally grabbed the opportunity with both hands, and in a flash I had my backpack stuffed full of tasty goodies ready for the day’s adventure.

Well, at last the train pulled into the station, and it seemed like no time at all before the two of us were strolling down Brighton Pier with our bags swinging from our shoulders, whistling a jaunty little sailors’ song and sporting two brand new state-of-the-art fishing rods. My friend Mr Trumpkin (a white rat with a name uncannily similar to mine) is big in the business world, but has also recently become a politician. And as we cast our lines and set down our rods, he had me spellbound by the wisdom of his words…

‘Let me tell you, being rich is very over-rated,’ he declared with authority. ‘I have made so much money, you wouldn’t believe it. I have lost that money and made it back again more times than you’ve had hot showers. And now I have my own private planes and yachts, hotels and businesses, and even my very own space rocket. But does all that make me happy? No, it does not.’
I was shocked. ‘Well, what does make you happy, then?’ I asked.
‘What makes me happy is being a great guy,’ he answered. ‘I’m so great, even when I fail I’m a winner. And you should be happy too, Grumpkin.’
‘I should?’
‘Well, sure you should. See, I’ve just caught a prize-winning sea bass,’ he said, reeling in his catch, ‘but clearly your fish is much, much smaller.’
I couldn’t believe it. As I reeled it in, I could see a really tiny sardine wriggling on the end of my line. ‘You think this should make me happy?’ I snorted in disgust, as I removed the hook from its mouth and threw it back into the water.
‘No, Grumpkin, the fish won’t make you happy. What will make you happy is learning to be happy to lose.’

What – happy to lose? The cheek of it! I mean, really, doesn’t he know who I am? He’s talking to the four-time winner of the Nat Rat Angling Trophy – that’s who! Well, it seems I’ve greatly overestimated Mr Trumpkin. After all, what is he, at the end of the day? He’s an empty-headed show-off, a smug, self-centred twit who talks a lot of absolute twaddle!

And mark my words, a bag of hot air like him will never go far in politics!

Money.  We all need it.  We all use it.  But does anyone really know what it is?

No, fans, it’s not the coins and bank notes in your pocket, nor is it the figures that appear on your bank statement. In fact I challenge you to show me anything you like – I guarantee that none of it is actual, bona fide money! That’s because money isn’t a real thing at all, is it? It’s just an idea in our heads, something we use to help us trade the things we have for the things we want. And far too many people don’t have enough of it to make ends meet.

I mean, really! If money is just an idea in our heads, then surely we shouldn’t be dependent on the kind which is minted and printed by banks! We should create our own money tokens using whatever items we please… things like pebbles and shells from the seaside, for example, or nuts and berries from trees. If we could just learn to trade things more creatively, wouldn’t everyone have enough, and to spare? Yes, fans, make no mistake – money really would grow on trees if we wanted it to!

Well, speaking for myself, I am planning to use personal autographs as my money tokens. For each signature I shall expect to receive in return one week’s worth of groceries, payable in advance… or, should I make that two? Tell you what, why don’t you form an orderly queue outside, and I’ll make my final decision after I’ve had a nice strong cup of camomile tea…

Then again, if you simply can’t contain your impatience, then fifty pounds in cash will be absolutely fine!

Yes, fans, you’ve spotted it, something’s got me hot under the collar again – and this time I’m absolutely fuming! Why? Well, see what you think of this…

The other day I was at a party, and as usual, I was surrounded by many admirers who had gathered round to hear me speak. This being so, I decided that here was an excellent opportunity to introduce the subject of a serious problem which I referred to as “light pollution” – meaning, of course, CELESTIAL light pollution. But what would you think? Before I got past the first sentence, everyone jumped right in and started talking about street lights. Yes, STREET lights, those lamp posts with bulbs in them that go on and off according to – guess what? – human control!

Honestly now, how stupid is that? They turn on the light to see by, then they call that light “pollution”! I mean, really! If they don’t want to see where they’re going, then all they have to do is flip a switch, and – bingo, instant darkness! Well, it’s not rocket science, is it? But the truth is, the problem of REAL light pollution could indeed be solved by rocket science, and that’s because the source of that problem is a lot higher up than our inconvenient street lights… all of which leads me to the question:

What are you humans actually doing about moonlight pollution?

Well, I mean, it’s ridiculous isn’t it! Someone should have got a handle on this by now. I’m sick and tired of being kept awake at night by the light of that huge great lunar orb that takes forever to pass across the sky! The strain on me is really starting to take its toll. Just think about it, fans – you complain because a single street light shines through your curtains. But the moon is more brilliant than a hundred street lights, and yet you people do nothing about it. I quite understand that you can’t turn it off, but couldn’t you at least fit it with a dimmer switch? Please don’t say it’s too much of a hassle. Dimmer switches don’t cost much, and NASA has sent plenty of rockets to the moon, so how hard can it be to send an electrician up there to fix it?

What’s that, did you say something? …No, I’m not getting it, I’m afraid. It’s no good, fans, you’re going to have to speak more clearly. All I can hear is a sort of soft, rhythmic snoring sound.

Come on, now – wake up, wake up, rise and shine! We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to make this world a better place. This is no time to rest, we need to get up and get busy. After all, we have a mission of our own to accomplish: We must petition NASA to dim the moon, so we can all finally get some sleep!

…uh, HELLO?