Which brings us to the organisation called Basildon District Volunteer Carers, which is currently advertising for a TONiC organiser. Yep, that's spelt right. TONiC. (Although why no-one can bring themselves to use capital and lower case letters in the right order these days, I don't know.)

Now I have banged on ad nauseum about Mr Blah's Turkey Army, the hundreds of thousands of unnecessary civil servants who have had jobs created for them by NuLabour so that they'll put their X in the correct box come May 5. It's called buying votes, and is supposed to be illegal in this country, but no matter.

When politicians brag about the billions of pounds that have been pumped into public services since 1997, it is these people to whom they refer, not frontline staff like doctors, dentists, nurses or policemen. And every week the gravy train continues upon its way, with the Wednesday issue of The Guardian positively stuffed with non-jobs for no-marks, and all at the taxpayers' expense.

Now the successful applicant for the post of TONiC organizer will have to work an onerous 30 hours a week for the miserable pittance of £13,260 per annum. I suspect that a free Rover 45 might be chucked in as well.

They must have good communication and organisational skills, an awareness of health and hygiene regulations, good information technology skills, and the ability to work both as an individual and a team member. Full training and support will be given. Along with an index-linked pension, inflation-busting pay increases, and the assurance of a job for life as long as that nasty Mr Howard doesn't get elected.

What the job ad doesn't mention is an ability to wield scissors accurately, which would seem to me to be an essential seeing as TONiC actually stands for Toe Nail Cutting in the Community. No, really.

Now I'm sure that for many elderly people, this is an essential service. But wasn't that the kind of thing the District Nurse used to do? When we had District Nurses, of course. (And especially those with chests like Gladys Emmanuel).

Now it's just another post for a NuLabour apparatchik, whose ability to put lentils and tofu on the dinner table is inextricably linked to the political health of Mr Blah and his self-serving cronies.

Never mind. The closing date for applications is May 3. I might just give it a go.

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The public sector jobs pages of The Guardian, mentioned above, have been hounded beyond parody by hacks nationwide, but a few weeks ago I came across a quite wonderful spoof in Viz magazine.

Using that tortured style of English one only finds in jobs ads, the page headed Vagrant Recruitment made me weep with laughter. It claims that Poundbury Heritage Village (prop. Prince Charles) is looking for a Traditional Cheerful Gentleman of the Road. The successful recruit will be a friendly, outgoing, presentable tramp with a ready smile and a kind word for everyone. He will be fully continent and will carry a red and white spotted bundle over his shoulder. Shoes with flapping toecaps will be provided. The ability to delight children by producing toffees from behind his ears would be an advantage.

Harold Ramp & Partners, allegedly one of Europe’s leading vagrancy consultancies, seeks an experienced Scottish Precinct Beverage Operative to join a busy bench in a Newcastle shopping precinct. The successful candidate will have a proven track record of stumbling around a retail concourse while swigging from a plastic bottle of white cider and will ideally have at least two years experience of aggressive shouting at passers-by. Shoes without laces are not essential, but would be an advantage.

The Methylated Nomadic Group wants to recruit an Executive Senior Tramp (salary: any loose change) to join its South East operation. The ideal candidate will be a go-getting self-starter with proven muttering skills and at least 10 years experience of standing on a street corner shouting at traffic in a woolly hat. A lack of basic personal hygiene is important.

There are also opportunities for a Sinister Underpass Vagrant, a Dancing Bag Lady and a Senior Cigarette End Search and Collection Operative. All quite marvellous, but just how far-fetched? When Arts Council money collides with politically correct inclusiveness policies, you never quite know when street entertainment meets Care in the Community.

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UPDATE TIME: I upset a few oxygen thieves a couple of weeks ago by going off on a rant about the lethal tendencies of old people on electric scooters. In my defence, I bring as evidence the case of Mr Vidal Dacosta.

Mr Dacosta had a dodgy ticker and therefore bought himself a ride-on lawnmower to tackle the garden at his seaside bungalow. The first time he used it, he managed to reverse over a 30 foot cliff onto the beach below. Case closed.

Remember last week's piece about our risk adverse society? (Don't worry if you can't, old people.) It now appears that dangerous paedophiles have been using the cover of village cricket matches to stalk their victims.

How? Well don't ask me, but the English Cricket Board has decreed that players, umpires, scorers, groundsmen and even the ladies who make the tea must now undergo criminal record checks just in case there's perversion lurking amidst the iced fancies. The sound of leather on willow will never be quite the same again.

Remember that Blunkett chap? The one with the dog and the obsessive tendencies? And the completely wasted free ticket to last year's FA Cup Final?

Months after being chucked out of the Cabinet for fiddling with a married lover and her nanny's visa application, he is still ensconced in the grace and favour lodgings he enjoyed as Home Secretary. He also still has his bodyguards and his ministerial Rover 45. In the meantime, he has managed to blag more than £70,000 in dosh for various "consultation" fees and from speaking engagements on top of his salary as an MP. I suppose someone has to pay for the Pedigree Chum.

Compo latest: A schoolteacher (it is not known if he or she was from Merseyside) had to attend a risk assessment meeting to discuss dangerous situations in their school. During the meeting, he or she fell off their chair and hurt their back. Result? £2,750 compensation. Doesn't it make you proud to be British?

Meanwhile the marvellous Coronation Street has been busy killing off a few superfluous characters. First Ray Langford returned, only to expire into a cardboard coffin. Then young Katy Harris topped herself after several weeks of terminal head-shaking. Both episodes were followed by the sanctimonious announcement "Anyone affected by this storyline can call an ITV helpline for confidential advice and counselling".

Alternatively, they could get a grip and realise that this is just a television programme…

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More PC anguish (literally): The Metropolitan Police, who recently spent the best part of a million pounds on changing one word in their "mission statement", are now wringing their hands over how they refer to black and Asian people.

Officers have been instructed not to use the term "black and ethnic minority" so as not to cause offence. Instead they must use the term "black and minority ethnic communities/people". Reprinting all the paperwork will no doubt cost another million. And meanwhile burglars and drug dealers run riot. It's enough to make a cat laugh.