It’s that time of year. The nights have well and truly drawn in, it’s cold, it’s damp, and who wants to go out?

So it’s what I like to call Nesting Season. A bit of buffing here and there, a bit of hard-nosed, Japanese style if-it-doesn’t-bring-you joy-throw-it-out tidying, and perhaps some new soft furnishings to maximise the Coze (English for hygge) before the ice and snow comes.

But as I’ve shuffled about my house in my jim-jams and woolly socks, contemplating The State of Things in the half-light, I have noticed that the old shack could do with a bit of sprucing up.

I’m not entirely sure of the purpose of skirting boards other than being a handy dust catcher which need regular damp dusting. Nice addition to the bottom of a wall or just an extra chore? I know what I think... But they’re definitely looking sorry for themselves And light switches. What’s that about? They seem to get unnecessarily grubby, just because they weren’t built for people who might have just read a newspaper or got their fingers sticky with food.

Then there’s the taller end of difficulties. My unnaturally high ceilings, combined with my very short step ladder and very short personal self, mean that those high-up cobwebs have a shelf-life longer than UHT milk.

And after 10 years in the same pied-a-terre without so much as a lick of paint, the whole darn abode could certainly do with a bit of time-consuming, costly and jaw-achingly boring TLC.

Which is fine. Because I have a plan. I’m going to order:

  • New central heating system
  • Luxury carpets throughout
  • Entirely new lighting system
  • New skirting boards
  • New light switches
  • New kitchen cabinets
  • New kitchen flooring
  • New shower...

You get the idea. I quite fancy an entire, luxury, no expense spared refurb.

In order to do this, I’m going to have to spread the cost.

And by this, I don’t mean put a little aside each month to pay for it.

Oooh nooo, I have a much better idea. I’ll get quotes for the desired refurbishment and then I’ll split the bill among, say, the taxpayers of Swindon.

None of them will benefit from this expenditure, none of them will enjoy the end result. I could afford to pay for it all myself, but I don’t care — they can all chip in.

After all, if my home isn’t looked after, it might catch fire, or be flooded or crumble around me. And the things I possess, some of which are precious to me and, if you’re into social history, will probably be of historical interest one day, may be ruined.

So, dear taxpayer, that is why you must pay for my house to be done up.

Don’t look aggrieved. It’s not like I’m asking for 10 miles of water pipes or 6,500 plug sockets or 20 miles of skirting board... I’m not asking for £369m to do up my home. Only the Queen would do that.

It’s not the animals who should be put down

I AM not a violent person.

I can honestly say I’ve never gone out drinking to the degree that I’ve ended up wanting to hurt someone physically.

I’ve never wanted to kick someone around a park, torment and terrify them and see them suffer beyond my wildest imagination.

I’ve never wanted to then go one step further and set fire to them.

But I do now.

We reported this week on a group of young men in their 20s — and one aged abut 40 — all of whom should know better, who set about doing just that to a hedgehog. They kicked it about Woodhall Park and tried to torch it with a lighter.

They were probably drunk. That’s no excuse. Maybe they’re not that bright. That’s no excuse.

Maybe they have no empathy and, well, I’m not sure what we do with people like that.

A traumatised witness took the hedgehog to the vet’s, but sadly its injuries were so severe it had to be put to sleep.

If anyone knows who these evil, wretched pieces of protoplasm are, please, I implore you, get in touch.

Contact the RSPCA on 0300 123 8018 and give these disgusting excuses for human beings what they deserve.

Or contact me at the Adver. I quite fancy an afternoon in the park...