Back From Fighting The Toffs

Gosh, I'm knackered. I've pulled muscles I didn't even know I had. Don't let anyone tell you that landed gentry just sit around all day doing nothing, like the characters in The Royle Family. Just the walking alone was enough to shag out someone more used to popping round to Stoke Newington High Street for a quick take-away.

The gardens weren't 1½ acres as I'd been led to believe - Moyra had acquired another 4½ acres or so to enlarge the estate ready for an ambitious redevelopment project (wow, was she spitting teeth over the fall in property prices and, worse still, blaming it on Alistair Darling!). And then there was the horse riding, which has given me such painful rashes you-know-where that I can hardly walk.

Apart from the aches and pains, I thought we had a pretty good day all in all. Lots of people shouting: "Down with the toff!" and "Hereditary candidate, sod off!".

So I was more than a bit disappointed to see the betting odds when I got home. Even the bookmakers are in cahoots with the Tories against us now. I expect Rupert Murdoch has paid them to quote false odds. Just wait for tomorrow - I'm sure Labour is going to win.