Abner Brown

I will stop their Christmas service if it's the last thing I do.

I was going to listen to the Bishop's reading of the Diocese accounts yesterday on the wireless . But then I realised that, if I did, I might be compelled to assault one of the curates. So instead, I went to the Drop of Dew and had a good moan about how unfair everything is.

If we refuse to put our clocks back tonight, then while everyone else redoes 1am, we can nip round their houses at 2am, before they get there, and ransack their valuables in peace. We might even find the box.

When you realise that for the sake of an extra hour in bed you'll have to put up with not seeing daylight again until March.

I'm never sure whether to celebrate Halloween as the gateway to scrobbling season, or to treat it as a dratted nuisance, in which hordes of choirboys turn up at the door demanding sweets. Still, I shall welcome them in and make them comfortable, as usual. #DeepDeepintheEarth

I encountered a man with about 15 pumpkins in his shopping trolley at the supermarket. He claimed to be buying for the Scouts, but I suspect a sophisticated effort to distort the curcubit market and trigger a potentially destabilising nationwide run on gourds.

I'll give you 9/10 for effort, but if you're going to test-out your blizzards, couldn't you at least wait until the temperature is below zero? I took a stroll into Condicote this afternoon and now have got about a jorum's worth of chilled water sloshing about inside my cassock.

I've been in Condicote buying turnips for Halloween. I don't hold with pumpkin carving. It's a nasty, American habit that results in a lumpen, ugly, orange brute leering maliciously at you.

It's shaping-up to be a crisp cold night. There's nothing like waking to a rime of frost on your scrounger to put you in the mood for some early-season scrobbling.

Is there any pleasure quite like slipping into a brand new pair of fleecy slippers. Well, apart from devastating Christmas for thousands of good people by drowning about a gross of assorted clergymen and choristers?

Boys, it's time to celebrate 100 years of Pooh ... Charles, I shan't include you in our slightly later but equally significant work of classic children's literature if you're going to snigger like a fourth former just because I mentioned Pooh.

Drat it - everyone else gets the northern lights, and I just get this dolt.

I can't get the hang of October at all. One moment the cool misty evenings are calling the wolves to run. The next, the sun is out and it's time to pop on the old bathers, and nip down to the lake for a splash-about.

I'm considering mending my ways, this year, and inhabiting a world made entirely of All Creatures Great and Small Christmas specials. I'm hoping for a discount on treating those dratted wolves.

It's rained so much, today, I thought I was back in the canal. What do you mean I'm being over-dramatic [flounces-out threatening to Scrobble all meteorologists]?

I'm considering pitching an idea for a new wireless programme to be called Non-Entity Scrobblers - in which I try to work out which one of these dolts will try to pinch my boodle and swan of with Pouncer at Christmas.