Should North Korea calm down a bit, and we’re not plunged into WWIII; if this latest in a series of Ice Ages which we’re experiencing finally thaws for a little while; if Gideon Osborne doesn’t lead us all a merry dance into the jaws of Hell and Damnation; if the world doesn’t end just because society allows women priests & gay marriage; if those 6 lottery balls don’t drop in the correct order, allowing me to off-fuck to the Turks & Caicos Islands where I shall be waited upon 24 hours a day by the fragrant Wei Leng and her sister, the slightly over-ripe Mildred; should my suspected case of IBS clear up enough for me to spend any time at all slightly more than 27 yards away from a bathroom; should I not be called upon by Andy Flower to come out of retirement to lead the bowling attack against the Aussies this summer (when we all know my 7 year old niece Petunia could roll that lot over); and, indeed, should there be any Australian professional cricketers who make the trip over to the UK this summer, having avoided being dropped or sent home by the latest management numpties, then I shall be at Lords on Sunday 21st July to hopefully witness an innings and small change defeat of the Colonials/Inmates XI.

Thank you , Mr Postman.

Telly Selly Time: