And while I don't mind dodging the relentless junk mail offering me physical extensions of a phallic nature, low-interest credit cards for my pets, or steel shutters for the mullioned windows endorsed by John Stalker himself, I am getting rather anxious about supplies of a more personal nature.

To be blunt, we're down to the last case of Buckfast and the Vimto is disappearing fast.

It's clear that the fox-hating lunatic has done something awful to the postman, an engaging character from "oop North" who we've nicknamed Frodo due to his incomprehensible accent and his obvious history of living in a hole. Perhaps Hobbit-hunting is the new craze.

I suppose we should only be thankful that we don't live in the parliamentary constituency of Mitcham and Morden. For there, the volume of post must be approaching Titanic proportions. Or at least an iceberg. How do I know this? Well, examine the expense account of the MP for that area, published for the first time this week.

NuLabour MP Siobhain McDonagh, for it is she, claimed £31,845 for postage expenses last year. Now that's an awful lot of stamps. In fact, let's work it out.

How much is a second class stamp? I know the devious bastards have stopped putting prices on them, but I think it's about 20 pence. So we divide £31,845 by 20p and we arrive at the astonishing conclusion that Ms McDonagh (she's bound to be a Ms, and probably a lentil-eater as well) sent out 159, 225 letters in just 12 months.

Even without allowing for holidays, that's 3,062 a week, 612 a working day, or 76 an hour. Seventy-six an hour, every hour of every day? Does she think we're stupid? Or is she just supremely arrogant? You decide. What's she using for paper? Baby skin?

Amazingly, Ms McDonagh's stamp-licking habit isn't the worst scandal contained within the figures. Let's turn our sights to another Blah Babe, Claire Curtis-Thomas, who topped the list of legalised leeches by claiming a whopping £168,889 in exes on top of her £57,000 salary.

It will come as no surprise to most of you to learn that Ms Curtis-Thomas (she's bound to be a Ms, and probably a lentil-eater as well), represents a constituency on Merseyside, spiritual home of the freeloader. (Ooops, sorry. Bit of a Boris there.)

She excuses her publicly-funded profligacy by claiming to be "very busy". I bet she is. Representing a chunk of Self-Pity City must mean that her florist's bill alone costs a fortune. And that's before John Peel sadly turned up his toes. (Ooops, sorry. Bit of a Boris there. Again.)

Ms Curtis-Thomas also employs her husband as a "research assistant" who works from home. Cost? A mere £30,000 in salary and £20,000 in office costs. I'm sure it's worth every penny.

And if you wish to be further depressed, I feel honour bound to point out that we have four Sinn Fein MPs elected to represent constituencies at Westminster. The fact that not one of the definitely-not-terrorist tinkers has ever graced the green leather benches with their sectarian trouser-seats hasn't stopped them claiming over £100,000 apiece in 2003-04. On top of their £57,000 salaries. It's enough to make a cat laugh.

Did you know that your MP can claim back mortgage interest on their so-called second home, supposedly in London? And get a free television licence? And food and drink while there? And free furniture including a bed, a dishwasher, a fridge and other electrical appliances? And free house and contents insurance? And free decoration and maintenance costs? It's an outrage.

And some of the bastards are clearly taking the Mickey by playing the system for all it's worth. Environment Secretary Margaret Beckett already gets a grace-and-favour, rent-free apartment in Whitehall courtesy of her position as a minister. So she claims the housing allowance, intended to allow out-of-London MPs to have a base near Parliament, on her home in Derby. She already owns it outright. She doesn't even have a mortgage. Yet she still pockets £20,057 a year in "housing allowance". It's outrageous.

Mrs Beckett and her husband Leo (which, surprise surprise, she employs at our expense) are also keen caravanners. So not only are they taking the proverbial, but they're mucking up your holiday journeys as well. I suppose we should only be grateful that there isn't a "caravan allowance". We'd be paying for them to empty their own chemical toilets or for eating Scotch Eggs under the awning.

(Hello. This is Mr Beelzebub's lawyer here. I must point out that the expense claims of Mrs Margaret Beckett, Ms Thingy McDonagh, and Ms Claire Curtis-Thomas are entirely legal, are within the rules governing MPs, and have been approved by the Commons fees office. Thank you. That'll be three grand, if you don't mind. Cash preferred. Used twenties are always handy.)

Are you all mad or just plain stupid? Why aren't there burning barricades in the streets in response to this news? Why isn't Batman shinning up Big Ben? Why aren't pensioners hurling themselves off Tower Bridge?

(Did someone mention pensions? Don't get me started on those. Gordon Brown's done a runner with your money yet our elected representatives can retire with a £28,742 annual pension after 20 years in the Commons. They also receive a pay-off of up to £57,485 if they are defeated at a general election. Plus £32,286 to "wind down" their office, which usually consists of their partner, their maiden aunt, and an exhausted work experience kid desperately trying to send out 76 letters an hour.)

Now I am quite prepared to argue that you get what you pay for. I don't actually think that £57,000 is enough for a dedicated constituency MP doing his or her job properly. But why don't we just pay them a proper wage rather than have them colluding in what appears to be the kind of fiddle that would get the tea-boy sacked?

Maybe they get some kind of kick out of it. Let's face it, if pretending to represent electors in the biggest dictatorship since Stalin was strutting around Red Square isn't taking money by false pretences, I don't know what is.

I'm not a great fan of the French. They smell, they're rude, and some of them don't speak English however loud you shout.

Unfortunately, the good burghers of Plymouth seem to be in thrall of the garlic-munching, horse-stewing, onion-selling, sparrow-shooting, cheese-eating surrender monkeys. Entrusted with hosting the 200th anniversary celebrations of the Battle of Trafalgar, Plymouth City Council appears to have come over all John Cleese in a "don't mention the war" fashion.

It appears that Lord Nelson's great victory, which prevented the first invasion of this sceptered isle since 1066, is not for discussion in the city's schools. Instead, the gum-chewing, baseball cap-wearing, knuckle-dragging junior chavs of 3C will be taught about the "deprivations suffered by sailors of both sides", which mainly seems to consist of having to eat biscuits instead of braised rat.

Organiser Ms Val van der Hoven (she's bound to be a Ms, and probably a lentil-eater as well) says that the city is anxious to avoid "rubbing French noses in defeat". Why? If we don't keep the buggers in their place they'll be over the Channel and claiming dodgy expenses before you could say "Margaret Beckett".