Swigging gampagne and spitting the dregs onto the unsheltered heads of the poor

Blimey what a night that was. I've been asleep for a day and a half. The Queen's solicitors, Spanners, had a reception to celebrate my Knighthood (did I mention my recent K? Must have slipped my mind. They probably think that now I am titled I will have a bit of money to splash lest I am finally caught out on a libel charge. The reception was hosted by the ebullient and gregarious Gratin Maris-Piper. By ebullient and gregarious I mean that I am scared witless of her. With good reason. Anyway a whole host of brolly sector notables and my family gathered and we got royally smashed on BUBBly gampagne - Brollingers, naturally. My chair made a lovely speech where she compared me to marmite. I guess this means that you either love me or hate me but could mean that I spread myself everywhere and have an unusual taste. And as usual I see no contradiction in making a a big noise about enjoying the finer things in life while the dampest members of society, who I presume to speak on behalf of to keep me in those finer things, struggle with the cuts. As long as I mention them as an afterthought at the end it's all fine.