At long last, the most important date in the Gypping in the Marsh village calender has arrived: the 6th of November - the Feast Day of Saint Bodkin. It's a date that the entire village looks forward to. Unfortunately, not quite everything went completely according to plan this year...

I had invited my old friend Georgy to stay with me for a couple of days so that he could take part in the celebrations and get a taste of our ancient English traditions.

All the electrical work I had been having done at Hemlock Cottage is now complete, and Georgy was pleased to see what a neat job his electrician friend Philby had done: even though he'd had to carry out some major rewiring in the cottage, you really wouldn't know that he'd even been inside the house. I showed Georgy around the place, proudly pointing out the new light switches and electrical sockets.

"Testirovanie, testirovanie, raz, dva, tree," said Georgy as he entered each room - an old Russian good luck charm which is traditionally spoken in a Russian house after major renovations have been carried out, as he explained to me.

Anyway, back to the Feast Day of Saint Bodkin. The day started off well, with the traditional afternoon feasting on the village green. The ladies of the Gypping in the Marsh Women's Institute had outdone themselves by providing an incredible range of mostly cabbage-based delicacies, and the Cock and Bull did a roaring trade as the villagers got nicely into the spirit of things.

Villagers celebrating the Feast Day of Saint Bodkin on a village green

Villagers celebrating the Feast Day of Saint Bodkin on the village green

I had invited Beaker along so that he and Georgy could get to know each other, and Georgy enjoyed showing Beaker and some of the other villagers some traditional Russian drinking games, all of which involved knocking back copious amounts of vodka. I doubt the landlord has ever sold so much Smirnoff in all his life.

I've always known that - like me - Georgy can hold his drink. Beaker... not so much. After half an hour, he was looking distinctly green around the gills and was slurring his words and swaying rather alarmingly. It was not a good omen for things to come.

After the afternoon feasting, the action moved to Saint Bodkin's church for the main event of the day: the traditional ceremony of the Feast Day of Saint Bodkin. That was the point at which things began to unravel.

I walked over to the church with Georgy and Beaker a little bit early, so that I could introduce Georgy to Reverend Murray and the 18th Earl of Gypping before the ceremony began. As we entered the church - Beaker leaning heavily on Georgy's arm - we found the vicar in a state of some distress. He explained that one of the teenage virgins who was due to participate in the ceremony had come up to him just ten minutes earlier and told him that after a particularly eventful night out at the Cock and Bull with a local farmhand, she was no longer eligible to take part. The ceremony requires twelve teenage virgins, and Reverend Murray had no idea how he was going to find a replacement virgin at such short notice.

"Why don't you do it?" said Georgy to Beaker, slapping him hard on the back (a rather unwise action, I thought, given Beaker's current state) and propelling him forward towards the vicar. "I'd bet my last rouble that you're still a virgin."

Holding on tightly to the font with both hands in an attempt to remain upright and with both eyes pointing in different directions, Beaker slurringly mumbled that he was indeed a virgin and agreed to help out. At least I think that's what he said; it was very difficult to make out his words. Reverend Murray was hesitant, pointing out that the virgins who take part in the ceremony are usually teenagers and always female. I think his hesitancy was worsened by the fact that he and Beaker have had something of a strained relationship since Beaker left his prior job as verger at the church - but that was many years ago, and I thought the two of them had managed to patch up their differences.

Reverend Murray ummed and ahhed a bit, but when he realised that there was no other way to resolve his problem in such a short space of time, he reluctantly agreed to allow Beaker to take the place of the ex-virgin. He then hurried off to the south aisle with Beaker - Beaker lurching from one side to another like a sailing ship in a gale and using the pews to steady himself as he went - so that Beaker could prepare himself for the ceremony with the other virgins.

A group of young women dressed in purple robes, standing in a church

Some of the virgins preparing for the ceremony

It was very good of Beaker to offer to help Reverend Murray in his time of need, but with the benefit of hindsight, I'm not convinced he understood exactly what he was letting himself in for.

"This should be worth seeing," said Georgy, rubbing his large hands together with glee. And he wasn't wrong.

Georgy and I then made our way to the vestry, where we came across Lord Murray putting the finishing touches to his ceremonial costume, and Betsy the goat, who was tethered to a doorhandle and happily munching away on the vicar's spare robes. Just like the twelve virgins, Lord Murray had a brand new robe this year - his robe a deep, blood red; the virgins' robes a lustrous purple - and he also had a brand new goat's head mask. The last mask had got rather moth-eaten over the years and was starting to look a bit shabby.

Lord Murray was relieved to see us, explaining that he needed help to get the mask on properly. After a brief introduction - it was Georgy's first time meeting a member of the British aristocracy - Georgy and I helped the Earl into the mask as best we could. The eye holes weren't quite in the right position and the Earl complained that what with that and the fact that he couldn't wear his glasses underneath the mask, he could hardly see anything at all; but we did the best we could in the short time available. After that, we made our way into the nave, which was now filling up quickly with the other villagers, and took our reserved seats near the front. Not right at the front - nobody wants the front seats after the unfortunate incident that took place during the 2003 ceremony - but one row back, together with the parish councillors. We didn't have long to wait before the ceremony began.

A tall man dressed in a long red robe, wearing a goat's head mask, standing in a church

The 18th Earl of Gypping in his ceremonial garb, just before the ceremony

At first, things seemed to be going well. Reverend Murray welcomed us all to the church, he gave a few readings about the life of Saint Bodkin, we sang a few Church of Zeal or No Zeal hymns - the usual sort of thing. Then the lights were dimmed, the torches were lit, and the verger brought Betsy out from the vestry and led her to the altar. Reverend Murray produced the Sacred Knife of Bodkin from underneath his robes, and as the churchwardens held the Betsy down on top of the altar - one holding tightly onto each leg - the vicar slit the goat's belly open from throat to groin with one smooth, deep cut. As Betsy's bloody innards spilled over the altar and slid down to the floor and Betsy breathed her last, Reverend Murray moved to the organ loft and began playing the organ - the cue for the twelve virgins to make their appearance.

This was the point at which things started to go seriously awry. Even though the virgins were completely covered by their purple cloaks, it was obvious which one was Beaker as they walked down the aisle: Beaker was staggering heavily, listing from one side to the other and grabbing the pews as he went along to keep himself from falling down. Despite this, he managed to make his way to the altar along with his fellow virgins, where they formed a line facing the congregation, with Beaker still swaying from side to side.

At this point, as the music built and the congregation looked on with bated breath, the Earl of Gypping burst forth from the vestry, resplendent in his new robes and goat's head mask, strode towards the virgins (bumping into the pulpit and the piano on the way), and disrobed them one by one.

There was an audible gasp as Lord Murray whipped Beaker's robe off him - most of the congregation had no idea at all that he had taken the ex-virgin's place. But that was nothing compared to the gasp that came from the congregation when the Earl made his choice of virgin. He dipped his hands into Betsy's bloody carcase and was just about to daub the Sacred Sign of Bodkin onto the chest of the virgin standing to the left of Beaker, when Beaker lurched uncontrollably in front of her, causing the Earl to accidentally make the sign on Beaker's bare chest.

Hearing the commotion that was going on in the nave, Reverend Murray descended from the organ loft to find out what was going on. He was shocked when he discovered what had happened, but he was adamant that the ceremony must go on: he explained that once the virgin had been chosen, there was no going back. All praise is due to Lord Murray. Always one to make the best of things in the circumstances, he dutifully bent Beaker over the altar and - as tradition demands - had his way with him.

Thankfully, things were over quickly. As Lord Murray withdrew from his somewhat unusual virgin of choice, Beaker straightened himself up, faced the congregation with a look of utter shock on his face... then turned to his right and vomited copiously over the alabaster tomb of the 3rd Earl of Gypping and his wife.

It certainly gave us all something to talk about when we adjourned to the church hall for tea and biscuits afterwards.

Later that evening, back in the Cock and Bull, Georgy thanked me for providing him with an experience he said he will never forget for as long as he lives. I doubt that Beaker will forget the experience in a hurry either - although no thanks were forthcoming from him.

"Look on the bright side, Beaker," said Georgy, once again slapping Beaker heartily on the back. "There's no way that's going to happen again: after what happened today, next year you won't be eligible to take part in the ceremony."

Beaker shot him a look of pure hatred, before diving into the toilets to be physically sick again.

After recounting those somewhat traumatic happenings, I'm pleased to announce that the third episode of the Gypping in the Marsh Podcast is now available on the Gypping in the Marsh village website. This week, Dean and Laura discuss the building that has been the heart and soul of Gypping in the Marsh for centuries: Saint Bodkin's church. Click here to access the podcast.

Gilbert Murray MP

The Gypping in the Marsh Podcast

14th November 2024 - Musings on the US election result... and I think I'm in love

After spending so much time recounting the goings-on in Gypping in the Marsh last week, this week my news will be entirely London-based.

I met up with Georgy at Blunt's one evening this week. Toni showed us to our usual table, in a secluded booth at the back of the restaurant. After I'd given Georgy an update on what's been happening in the world of British politics - he's always so keen to hear about this - we had a fascinating discussion about the recent US election. Georgy told me that everyone at the Russian Embassy was delighted by the outcome. Apparently they had held a big party to celebrate and the vodka was flowing freely. When I asked him why people were so happy with the result, he told me that President Putin now felt as if he had the United States in his pocket. Well, the actual words he used were "Putin holds that man's balls firmly in his hand, and he knows he can squeeze them whenever he likes".

Intrigued, I asked him to tell me more.

"Have you heard the rumours about what was supposed to have happened in the presidential suite of that Moscow hotel back in 2013?" he said. I nodded. "Well, one of the guys at the embassy was working there as the night manager at the time, and he got to see the tapes. Unbelievable stuff."

Georgy leaned closer.

"Look, I'll show you some stills," he said under his breath, pulling out his phone. And he did.

I was absolutely flabbergasted at what I saw. The stills were very grainy, but despite that, it was possible to make out a very familiar figure, sitting in a gilded chair as two near-naked women frolicked on the bed of the presidential suite. The bed must have been utterly ruined by the time they'd finished. What they were doing was absolutely disgusting... and yet, at the same time, strangely mesmerising. It certainly gave me an idea or two.

A blurry photograph showing two women frolicking on a bed in a posh hotel room

One of the pictures Georgy showed me of the goings-on in the presidential suite of the Moscow hotel

"Gilbert my friend," said Georgy, slipping his phone back into his pocket and looking me straight in the eye, "I'll send you a copy of the photos. But before I do, let me give you a word of advice. Never put yourself in a compromising position, especially not in a hotel room. You just never know who may be watching. Surround yourself with people you know you can trust. People like me."

Excellent advice from Georgy - although it's advice I could have done with 20-odd years ago, as you'll know full well if you can recall the stories in the papers at the time about the somewhat unfortunate misunderstanding I had with an Albanian chambermaid in my room at the Savoy. Still, I will make sure I heed his advice from now on. It's good to know I've got a friend like Georgy watching my back.

A close-up of the goings-on in the presidential suite, showing the full depravity of the situation in graphic detail

As we talked, Georgy told me more about his background. He told me that he grew up in a very poor family, in an impoverished village about eighty miles away from Moscow. His father was a tinker, and as soon as he was old enough, Georgy started helping his father with his work. A few years later, an uncle of his managed to get him apprenticed to a tailor in a nearby town, so Georgy then learned the tailoring trade (he's a very useful man to know if you need a button replacing or your suit adjusting). But he soon realised that tailoring wasn't for him, and ran off to join the Russian navy, which gave him the opportunity to see the world. And now, having retired from the navy, he's been lucky enough to land a job working at the Russian Embassy in London.

Tinker, tailor, member of the Russian armed forces, cultural attache working at the Russian Embassy... Georgy really has led a fascinating life.

I mentioned a couple of weeks back that I had met a rather wonderful woman who lives in the apartment above mine - Ivanya Maria Tatiana Kumalova. As we had arranged, we met up in Blunt's - the night after I ate there with Georgy - and again, Toni showed me to my favourite table.

What an evening! I wrote previously about the impression she had made on me when we first met, and meeting her for the second time, my feelings for her only increased. We talked and talked - like Georgy, Ivanya has a keen interest in British politics - and we lingered over coffee and vodka liqueurs until Toni had to regretfully ask us to leave as the restaurant was closing. I had a delightful evening, and the chemistry between us was obvious.

As we walked home together through the streets of Kensington, she slipped her arm into mine, which gave me a frisson of excitement. When we got back to the house, I invited her into my apartment for a coffee, but she gracefully declined, explaining that she had work the following morning... maybe next time, she said with a smile. She gave me a brief peck on the cheek, then I watched, entranced, as she walked with feline grace up the stairs to her apartment.

As I fell into bed with a smile on my face, still smelling her sweet perfume on my skin, I could hear the faint but unmistakable strains of Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto Number One in B-Flat Minor coming from Ivanya's apartment above.

I think I am in love.

As it turned out, I couldn't sleep. It must have been the amount of coffee we'd drunk at Blunt's. Lying there, wide awake, I decided that as sleep wasn't an option, I may as well make the most of my time. With the grainy images Georgy had shown me the night before fresh in my mind, I got on the phone to an extremely broad-minded lady friend whom I've known for many years, whose unique and varied services are always available whatever the time of day or night if the price is right. In no time at all, the doorbell was ringing and in she walked, with a similarly adventurous companion, as requested.

After they had left a couple of hours later, I found that getting off to sleep was no longer a problem. I had to bed down in the guest room: the mattress in the master bedroom was good for nothing after we'd finished. It had been a damn good mattress before that night's activities. With that in mind, I dragged it out of the apartment and dumped it out in the street after my lady friends had left - before anyone else was around - hoping that it might be of use to one of the many less well-off people one sees shuffling about these days. Nobody can ever accuse yours truly of being short on charity. I've ordered a replacement mattress from Harrods... along with a waterproof mattress protector for future use.

The fourth episode of the Gypping in the Marsh Podcast is now available on the Gypping in the Marsh village website. This week, Dean and Laura discuss two of the most important dates in the Gypping in the Marsh village calendar - the Feast Day of Saint Bodkin and the May Day Wicker Bunny Burning - delving deep into the history of these events and the meanings behind them. Click here to access the podcast.

I mentioned a few weeks ago that the hosts of the podcast wanted to interview me so that they could devote an episode to my life and works. Unfortunately, a full diary and a couple of devastating hangovers have meant that it's been impossible to find the time to meet up for an interview in person, so I've asked Beaker to liaise with them and provide them with information on my background, my work as an MP and my many achievements. I look forward to hearing the completed podcast, which I hear they will be recording in the next few days, ready for release next week.

Gilbert Murray MP

The Gypping in the Marsh Podcast

21st November 2024 - Catching up with Miliband, and the launch of a new ale

After many weeks of trying, I finally managed to catch up with Ed Miliband before he jetted off to Azerbaijan, to push Fockett & Burnett-Hall PLC's proposals for a new opencast mine and coal-fired power station in Cambridgeshire. Well, I nearly managed to catch up with him. He's been doing his best to avoid me, and I have to hand it to the man: he's got a fair turn of speed when he puts his mind to it.

Ed Miliband running away down a corridor in the Houses of Parliament

Ed Miliband attempting to avoid me

After pursuing him down the corridors of Westminster - although he has the benefit of being significantly younger than me, I managed to keep up with him fairly well - I finally cornered him in the toilet behind the speaker's chair, where he had locked himself in and refused to come out until I had gone. I have to say, I don't think this kind of behaviour is entirely becoming for a Secretary of State: it's really not on, forcing an elder statesman such as myself to engage in such athletics just to get a hearing. I'm lucky to be in such good shape for my age.

I did my best to outline the benefits of the scheme through the locked door, but Miliband's response was to just talk over me, wittering on about COP 29, net zero, solar panels and his assertion that there is no coal to be found in Cambridgeshire. I ended up pushing the documents underneath the door and telling him to make sure he read them thoroughly, as I would be back to discuss it further with him when he returns from his little jolly abroad.

As an aside, I have no idea what Miliband had been eating, but the odour coming from the other side of the toilet door was truly something. I wonder whether he's been overdosing on the bacon sandwiches again. If I were him, I'd be going easy on the Azerbaijani cuisine this week.

Back in Gypping in the Marsh, I was delighted to have been asked by the local craft brewery, Gypping Ales, to launch their latest bottled beer at the Cock and Bull last Friday. I was going to be there anyway that night, holding court at my fortnightly constituency surgery, so it really wasn't much trouble for me to turn up a few hours earlier and extol the virtues of their new brew, while trying out a free bottle or ten.

The new beer is called 'Monkey Come'. It's named after an infamous event back in 2004, when a pet monkey escaped and caused havoc in the village. As it happens, the monkey belonged to my PA, Beaker. His main tactic to catch the escaped monkey involved wandering around the village streets with a big bunch of bananas, shouting 'Monkey, come!'. The event has become part of Gypping in the Marsh folklore... hence the name of the new ale.

Two bottles of Gypping Ales' 'Monkey Come' beer

Two bottles of Monkey Come

Beaker was there at the product launch. Quite right too, given that he was the inspiration behind the new ale's name. I couldn't help but notice that despite the Monkey Come being free of charge that day, he stuck to soft drinks throughout the afternoon and evening. A wise decision, if you ask me, given what happened the last time he over-indulged.

I think Beaker rather enjoyed the attention - much more so than he enjoyed being the centre of attention on the Feast Day of Saint Bodkin. He obviously relished recounting the tale of how he had conducted an experiment with his three monkeys to find out whether, left with a typewriter each, one of them would manage to type out a fragment of the complete works of Shakespeare. He called it his 'three monkey theorem' experiment. Bonkers, if you ask me. It all ended in failure, apparently, when his previous employer shot the monkeys in a rage. Beaker got rather misty-eyed, reminiscing about his time with John-Paul, George and Ringo before their untimely demise. I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up putting monkeys on his Christmas list this year.

Three monkeys and three typewriters in a small metal cage

Beaker's pet monkeys during his 'three monkey theorem' experiment, 20 years ago

But enough of Beaker and his monkey business. I'm happy to report that I can thoroughly recommend the new beer. Although it's a tad on the weak side for me - I found that a nip or two of vodka in the bottle made it even more acceptable to the palate - it's a fine tasting drink. It's available on draught and in bottles, so do look out for it at your local pub and off-licence.

It certainly went down well at the Cock and Bull that night, and made for a very congenial constituency surgery meeting. The fine details of what happened are unfortunately beyond me, but when I awoke the next morning, Kylie who works behind the bar - who I was somewhat surprised but not at all displeased to find lying beside me - assured me that a good time had been had by all that night.

It was good to see a few farmers from Gypping in the Marsh taking part in the protests outside Parliament the other day. I was sorry not to be able to join them; unfortunately I had to wait in at my London apartment all day for Harrods to deliver my new mattress. Still, I see that Fromage was there, all got up in his best 'Mr Toad' finery. Wearing a pair of wellington boots as well, I see. Just the thing for negotiating the streets of central London. I do hope a few of the farmers there took the opportunity to thank him in person for being the eminence grise behind Brexit, which Fromage tells me has been a resounding success for British farmers and other small producers.

The fifth episode of the Gypping in the Marsh Podcast is now available on the Gypping in the Marsh village website, and this week the subject is yours truly.

As I mentioned last week, I didn't get chance to meet with Dean and Laura, the podcast hosts, in person, so I asked Beaker to provide them with information about me and my achievements so that they could put together the podcast. Having listened to the end result, I have to say that I am not altogether happy. Granted, it's not completely negative, but I think anyone listening to this would come away with the impression that I'm a self-centred, thoughtless, alcoholic, sexually-incontinent imbecile. As anyone who knows me would agree, this is very much far from the case.

What's more, there's practically nothing in there about my many achievements as Member of Parliament for Gypping in the Marsh. When I asked Beaker how come he hadn't passed this information on to Dean and Laura, he simply shrugged and replied "What achievements?"

I think the man's still sore (both literally and figuratively) over what happened at the recent Feast Day of Saint Bodkin celebrations. But I am not at all happy with his attitude. It's an attitude that he may well find affects his next pay slip if he's not careful.

I suppose I must grudgingly concede that the podcast isn't entirely negative, so with that in mind, click here to access it. If you really must.

Gilbert Murray MP

The Gypping in the Marsh Podcast

28th November 2024 - Second thoughts about Ukraine, and a most memorable evening

Ever since last week's launch of Gypping Ales' new 'Monkey Come' beer, my PA Beaker has not stopped talking about monkeys. He has been in a world of his own, and I'm rather afraid that he may have been neglecting his duties. I have had to have a word. What with this, and Beaker's regrettable attitude ever since the Feast Day of Saint Bodkin debacle, I am starting to reconsider my decision to take the man on as my assistant.

Rant over. I arranged to meet up with Georgy for lunch at Blunt's this week. After I had updated him on the latest goings-on in the world of politics and on last week's Monkey Come launch in the Cock and Bull, we ordered a third bottle of our favourite Burgess cabernet sauvignon and talked extensively about the dreadful situation in Ukraine.

Ever since the conflict began, I have always been very much on the side of the Ukrainians, viewing Russia as the aggressor. But I have to admit that having spent such a lot of time recently with Georgy - and, even more recently, with Ivanya - my world view has shifted somewhat, and I can now begin to see things from their point of view.

People view Russia with such negativity these days. Mention Russia to someone and they are likely to think of illegal invasions of other countries, Ukrainian schools and hospitals being destroyed by missiles and drones, state-sponsored meddling in other countries' elections, poisoning of political opponents and cyber-attacks against other countries' infrastructure. All terrible things, admittedly; but Georgy and Ivanya have reminded me that Russia is also a country that has given much to the world in terms of culture - Tchaikovsky; Mussorgsky; Rimsky-Korsakov; Dostoevsky; Tolstoy; Pushkin - and that the Russians are a strong, passionate people. Extremely passionate in one particular case, of which more later.

Georgy gently suggested that I might use my influence as a Member of Parliament to try to shift opinion - both public opinion, and that of my fellow parliamentarians - to help people to see things "in a more balanced way", as he put it. To make them feel more kindly towards Russia and its people.

As Toni uncorked the fourth bottle of Burgess, I explained to Georgy that even though I am the foreign affairs spokesperson for Deform UK, this is very much a nominal position: Fromage makes all the running as far as foreign affairs are concerned, and hasn't let me do a single thing in the role. But Georgy suggested that I could wield my influence in other ways - by talking to MPs; by writing columns in the newspapers; and by getting to know the Labour front bench a bit better.

Georgy's first two suggestions may well be achievable goals, but getting to know the Labour front bench might not be as easy as he seems to think: they all treat me and my fellow Deform UK MPs as if we were something nasty that they'd stepped in. I can quite understand why one might want to treat the other Deform MPs in that way - an odious bunch, if truth be told - but I would have thought that my long (if interrupted) history as an MP merited a touch more respect than the current crop of Labour politicians show me.

On top of that, there's the issue of social background and common interests - I suppose I am talking about 'class'. Despise them as I do, I am still able to glide through Tory circles with ease, my Eton and Oxford past and my membership of various clubs smoothing my way ahead of me as I go. But it's a completely different matter with some of the people Labour has running the country at the moment. They simply don't move in the same sphere as I do.

However, Georgy has definitely given me something to think about. I shall ponder what he said. After all, what is the point of being an MP if one can't make a positive difference to the world in which we live?

The day after I lunched with Georgy, I met up again with the rather wonderful Ivanya Maria Tatiana Kumalova, for what I suppose I can term our second 'date'. This time, rather than going for a meal at Blunt's, I accompanied her to a concert given by the Cerddoriaeth Ofnadwy Ensemble - a renowned group of musicians from Cardiff - at the Royal Festival Hall. The ensemble was playing a selection of works by one of Gypping in the Marsh's most acclaimed composers, Johann Sebastian Murray (no relation), who is famed for his intricate contrapuntal baroque music.

As the taxi I had ordered pulled up outside, I walked up the stairs and rang Ivanya's doorbell. When she opened the door, my mouth nearly dropped to the floor: she looked absolutely stunning, clad in a simple black dress with matching high heels, with matching silver necklace and earrings of a most intricate design. When our taxi pulled up outside the Royal Festival Hall, I felt the luckiest man alive as Ivanya stepped out of the taxi and took my arm.

A glamorous woman dressed in a fur coat and hat, stepping out of a taxi at night outside a London theatre

My glamorous date for the night

The concert was enjoyable, on the whole. The first half, during which the ensemble played both books of JS Murray's 'Well-Tempered Swanee Whistle', was truly excellent. The second half - Murray's 'The Art of Stylophone Fugue' - was less so. The second half got off to a decent enough start, but there was a serious interruption to the programme when one of the stylophones' batteries ran out halfway through Contrapunctus VI, and there was a considerable pause while new batteries were found and installed. The ensemble never really recovered from the disruption, which was a shame.

Three well-dressed musicians playing swanee whistles in a concert hall

The Cerddoriaeth Ofnadwy Ensemble playing JS Murray's 'Well-Tempered Swanee Whistle'

Despite this, it was a memorable evening, and to be honest, the ensemble could have been banging pots and pans with wooden spoons for all I cared (apparently they are due to perform that piece from JS Murray's oeuvre next month): my attention was almost entirely focussed on the magnificent creature sitting by my side. And during the interval, who should I spot propping up the bar but my old nemesis, Boothby-Smythe? He was sitting chatting to one of the forgettable non-entities who I think now sits on the shadow front bench. I couldn't help but notice the amazement and jealousy on his face as he saw the entrancing woman on my arm. I pointed him out to Ivanya from the other side of the room and gave him a nod of acknowledgement, along with the widest smile possible. And then, when Ivanya looked the other way, I gave him the finger. The little rat.

A surprised and jealous looking man in a theatre bar

Sixtus Aloysius Boothby-Smythe in shock at the sight of me and my companion

What remains to be said of the evening? After the taxi ride back to Kensington, during which Ivanya was keen for me to give her an update on what's going on in the world of British politics, I invited her into my apartment for a nightcap... and this time, she accepted. And our evening did not end there; in fact, our night had just begun. Gilbert Murray MP is hardly one to betray a lady's confidences, so I shall simply say that my new mattress got a damn good breaking in; and that although up until now, I have never been one to believe in nominative determinism, the night I spent with Ivanya Kumalova has convinced me entirely of its existence.

I think I can now safely say that we are 'an item'. And I could not be more happy.

The sixth episode of the Gypping in the Marsh Podcast is now available on the Gypping in the Marsh village website. This week the subject is one of my namesakes: Gilbert Murray (no relation), the famous Gypping in the Marsh inventor, and one of Beaker's many former employers.

I haven't managed to listen to the latest episode yet. I just hope that the podcast hosts haven't done a complete hatchet job on Mr Murray, like they did on me last week. Click here to access the podcast.

Gilbert Murray MP

The Gypping in the Marsh Podcast

Gilbert's next blogpost will be published on 5th December. Don't miss it!

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Read more about the goings-on in Gypping in the Marsh in 'The Dating Agency Proprietor', in which an ex-employee of a Swiss bank offers to set Gilbert up as the next of kin to a deceased Yugoslavian oil trader, and to transfer the dead man's money into his bank account... at a price, of course. Will the scammer accept Gilbert's generous offer of free membership to his introduction agency? And if so, what sort of partner will Gilbert be able to find for the scammer?