My brilliant assistant Garry managed to foil this cunning plot by hiring a crack team of taxi drivers to drive me to Belgium. To keep us entertained, we took with us a a jazz quartet, and together we travelled in a vintage 1961 Bedford Coach which included a sauna and sushi bar. From Brussels I was able to catch a train through the Eurotunnel, and was thus returned to the welcoming bosom of my servants. I thanked them for their efforts with my traditional gifts of brown cheese and rotting fish.

So the Norwegians relented, but before they allowed me to leave Norway, they demanded that I make an appearance on the TV programme Skavlan. At least, I think Skavlan is the name of the programme, it could equally be the name of the channel, a day of the week or yet another Elk-based dish.

The bit with me in it starts at about 37 minutes and is conducted in English. For those of you who are in the 99.99% of people who don’t understand the Norwegian language and who might panic when they try to read the subtitles, no those are not Ikea instructions. Ikea is a Swedish company.

Update: several kind people have pointed out that the subtitles are Swedish, and that they are in fact a guide to furniture assembly.

There is a yet another re-run of Fawlty Towers showing in the UK soon on UKTV and the Guardian newspaper have published a short clip of the latest “about” programme which is to accompany it, which you may be interested in watching. Or not.

It made me consider two things:

Firstly, that the media pundits, so-called experts who sit around filling in the TV pauses with strategic analyses illustrated by endless slow-motion, graphically-adorned replays, all immediately said, once Russian supremacy was an established fact, how very good the entire Russian team was with their star player Andrei Arshavin in place. It seemed as if the Russian football team had moved miraculously, along with the entire Russian nation, from being ex-communist, broke no-hopers, to resurgent, gas-and-oil producing, cash-rich global contenders.

Secondly, that the bookmakers knew exactly what they were doing encouraging us all to bet on Holland, by shortening the odds and making them favourites, just before they played the disastrous match that sent them home.

I wonder how many of the bookmakers were Russian…

It’s not widely known that the producers of Celebrity Big Brother have attempted to recruit yours truly for every UK series so far. In fact, they have frequently resorted to quite ludicrous levels of bribery, sending in the post entirely shameless blandishments of a most extravagant nature, all of which of course have had to be returned with a kind refusal note.

I have nothing against Mr Orwell. I simply do not want to appear in his television show, and neither do I wish to be interviewed by the clearly insane Davina. Now, if the Sony Award-winning Dermot was still in place, then it might be different, but he isn’t, and so the matter is closed.

I have devised several reality shows of my own. Much like human Big Brother they are based on studying animal behaviour, but mine are more to do with genuine reality, such as chewing, grooming, rutting, and spitting. My absolute favourite show is called “Big Llama” which something that other llamas will surely stay up all night to watch.