Reflect, dear reader, on events over the last week at JT Mansions. Our male first born, Tarquin or Torquil or whatever he’s called, brought home a Scottish Executive booklet for our parental perusal.

Entitled "Drugs: what every parent should know", the fascinating tome contained a handy A to Z of drugs, including an entry describing the manifest benefits of what I believe our French cousins call le tabac whac.

You can imagine my disappointment when I learned that this handy listing was not to be taken as an opportunity to order up some of same. The absence of an order form led me to bewail the lack of enterprise shown by my heir’s school in not using the opportunity to home-deliver the odd quarter ounce (as we old people insist on using a pre-metric measure) as a way of boosting school funds. Tsk.

In like fashion, my attempts to track down the provenance of "Burberry" have come to naught. You’ll recall, that this very funny sound-clip, requested by about 60 readers, I thought was possibly the work of annoyingly young, handsome and talented weegie luvvie James McAvoy.

Not one to let a sleeping dog slumber on, I tracked down the agency representing McAvoy and emailed them, asking if they could check out with the actor if the work was indeed his.

And did they write back? Did they fuck.

Perhaps since the agency is based in That London, they had trouble understanding my Scottish accent which apparently must’ve permeated the text of my email. Whatever. If you’re a JT reader who liked the clip, and you can write an email without a Scottish accent perhaps you could email the agency, because I’d still like to know.

And while I’m in the mood to issues edicts, you lot should all check out the Holyrood Magazine which now has an on-line presence and, would you adam and eve it, they’ve linked to The JT!