Here we are in December, which is one of the most important times of the year in the Church of Zeal or No Zeal. I am of course referring to the season of Noelmas, which is now upon us. For those of you who have the misfortune to be members of one of the lesser religions, I suppose I must explain that the season of Noelmas begins on 1st December and culminates on 22nd December, which is of course the birthdate of the Great Prophet Noel Himself.

Reverend Murray started preparing for Noelmas as soon as the Feast Day of Saint Bodkin celebrations were over. To begin with - and thanks to my PA Beaker, I am ashamed to say - he had to have the church industrially-cleansed after the projectile-vomiting debacle at the end of the feast day celebrations. Apparently it was a devil of a job to get the alabaster tomb of the 3rd Earl of Gypping and his wife properly clean - especially the carving around the Earl's ruff, which is particularly intricate. Reverend Murray - quite rightly, in my opinion - has sent Beaker the bill for the clean-up operation.

Anyway, as soon as the clean-up was complete, Reverend Murray installed the 22 holy red boxes around the church ready for the start of Noelmas. For any of you who may not be acquainted with the Church of Zeal or No Zeal's religious practices, each day during the Noelmas season, during a special daily service, the vicar chooses one member of the congregation at random and asks them to select and open one of the 22 boxes. Each holy box contains a card on which is written a monetary amount, ranging from £5 to £2,500, and the chosen person then has the great honour of donating that amount to the Great Prophet Noel's banker, to help towards the running of the church and the upkeep of the Great Prophet Noel's New Zealand estate.

Several numbered red boxes in the chancel of an English parish church

Several of the numbered red boxes in the chancel of Saint Bodkin's church

Like the rest of the congregation, I look forward to the season of Noelmas very much... although my accountant is slightly less keen. Still, we can all breathe easy this year, as the £2,500 box has already been opened: Mrs McCourt, the widow who cleans the local primary school, opened it two days ago, much to everyone else's relief. She looked a bit shocked when the amount was revealed, poor woman, but she needn't worry about being able to afford the donation. In cases like this, the Church of Zeal or No Zeal's finance office is more than happy to arrange a loan, at very generous interest rates (generous to the church, obviously). The Great Prophet Noel and his banker are always there to help members of the church's congregation in their time of need.

Beaker turned up to yesterday's Noelmas service (at which the £75 box was opened) smelling even worse than usual, with some nasty-looking cuts to his arms and face and some deeply unpleasant-looking brown stains on his clothing. I took him to one side afterwards to enquire why he had turned up to church looking and smelling as if he'd just finished mucking out the lion enclosure at the zoo. His answer astonished me: he has acquired another monkey. Apparently the recent launch of Gypping Ale's 'Monkey Come' beer brought back fond memories of the three pet monkeys he used to have years ago, and he has decided to have another go at proving the 'infinite monkey theorem'. Last time he had three monkeys; this time he has apparently only managed to get his hands on one... so far, anyway. He invited me back to his house there and then, to meet his new pet. Naturally, I couldn't refuse. This would be the first time I had visited Beaker at his home.

We hadn't come within 50 yards of Beaker's cottage when the sound of loud screeching became apparent. By the time we reached the front door, the screeching was very loud indeed, and when Beaker opened the front door, it was deafening. Beaker led me through the mass of rubbish that littered the floor of the hallway, through to the kitchen at the back of the house.

There, in the middle of the kitchen floor, sat a tiny, filthy cage, containing the most evil-looking and angry chimpanzee I have ever seen in my life... and a manual typewriter. As we walked in, the chimp glared at us malignantly, bared its sharp, yellow teeth, rattled the bars of its cage and screamed at us.

"Meet Mr Chuckle," said Beaker, ducking (too late) as the chimp threw a well-aimed turd at his head. "I think he likes you."

An angry chimpanzee, with a blood-stained bandage around its head, with a typewriter, in a very small cage

'Mr Chuckle'

For a few moments, I was at a loss for words. I just stood there, looking in horror at the screaming, turd-hurling vision in front of me. A second flying turd quickly brought me back to my senses. I grabbed Beaker by the shoulders and marched him out of the kitchen, back into the hallway, slamming the kitchen door behind us just in time to avoid being hit by another flying lump of excrement.

"What the hell are you thinking of?" I managed to blurt out, as another turd hit the kitchen door with a thud. "Where on earth did you get that thing? What are those bandages around its head? And... 'Mr Chuckle'?!?"

Beaker explained. He had been in touch with an old friend who works at Gypping Life Sciences, the local animal testing laboratory, to ask whether they had any spare monkeys. And his friend had obliged, letting him have 'Mr Chuckle' at a knock-down price. Apparently the poor animal had come to the end of its useful life as far as the laboratory was concerned, and if Beaker hadn't been in touch he would have been carted off to Gypping Petfoods the following week.

The bandages, Beaker explained, were there as a result of some experiments that had been done on the chimp's brain. He had been assured that the bones would knit and the incisions would heal, but had been warned that the experiments may have led to certain 'undesirable behavioural traits' in the animal. Behavioural traits which seemed to be all-too apparent after just one look at the thing, I pointed out.

Beaker told me that he'd named the chimp 'Mr Chuckle' after his favourite comedy duo, the Chuckle Brothers. I told him they were not performing artists of whom I was aware, at which point Beaker started acting out what he said was 'one of their best routines'. In no uncertain terms, I instructed him to stop, telling him that if he wanted to retain his job, he should never subject me to that again.

Returning to the matter in hand, I asked how Beaker was planning to look after the chimp - pointing out to him that it is most definitely not a monkey. Beaker replied that he was hoping Mr Chuckle would calm down a bit once he had got used to his new environment, at least enough to allow Beaker to clean out his cage.

"Cleaning out his cage doesn't seem to be a problem at the moment," I said. "He seems to be doing a very good job of that himself, by throwing all his shit at you."

Just then, over the screeching and what I took to be the sound of the typewriter being hammered repeatedly against the bars of the cage, we heard a lorry reversing outside.

"Ah, that'll be the bananas," said Beaker. Kicking the piles of rubbish to one side, he opened the front door and we stepped outside to see a driver starting to offload box after box of bananas onto the road outside Beaker's house.

"Exactly how many bananas did you order?" I asked, looking on in amazement as the boxes continued to pile up in front of us.

"I didn't want Mr Chuckle to get hungry," said Beaker, sheepishly.

"Get rid of it," I said firmly. "I don't care how you do it, but get rid of it." Having said that, I turned on my heel and strode off down the road, the piercing sound of screeching thankfully receding into the distance as I went.

Boxes of bananas being unloaded from the back of a lorry

Beaker's boxes of bananas

What is one to do? Beaker can be such a damn idiot sometimes.

Turning to happier things, I can reveal that the seventh episode of the Gypping in the Marsh Podcast is now available on the Gypping in the Marsh village website. This week the subject is another one of my namesakes: Wing Commander Gilbert Murray, DSO, CBE, SOB (rtd.) (no relation), one of Gypping in the Marsh's most highly-decorated citizens, who can be found most evenings propping up the bar in the Cock and Bull, regaling people with often somewhat off-colour reminiscences of his time in the RAF.

Click here to access the podcast.

Gilbert Murray MP

The Gypping in the Marsh Podcast

12th December 2024 - Ivanya visits Gypping in the Marsh, and Mr Chuckle calms down

Last week, I invited my new significant other, Ivanya, to join me in Gypping in the Marsh for the weekend. I made a special effort to tidy up Hemlock Cottage before her arrival; well, to be more accurate, I tasked Beaker with tidying the place up while Ivanya and I drove up from London on the Thursday evening.

Having seen the state of Beaker's house last week, I had been wondering whether entrusting this task to Beaker had been a wise decision, but I have to admit, the man did a pretty good job. Beaker did leave a bit of a lingering 'zoo' odour about the place, but it wasn't too offensive - certainly not when compared to how Beaker's house smells - and Ivanya was too well-mannered to comment.

After Friday's Noelmas service at Saint Bodkin's, at which the 18th Earl of Gypping opened the £15 box (how ironic that the richest person in the village should open a box with one of the smallest amounts), I treated Ivanya to a tour around the village, during which I managed to introduce her to some of the village's more prominent inhabitants. I couldn't help but notice that she attracted admiring looks wherever we went. Well, it's not often that Gypping in the Marsh is treated to the sight of such a beautiful woman. What with the local gene pool being somewhat limited in scope and the fact that we don't get a lot of visitors, it's something of an event for the villagers to see someone who doesn't look like a close family member.

The one person who did not look pleased to see Ivanya was Kylie, the barmaid at the Cock and Bull. I had decided to treat Ivanya to a traditional Gypping night out, and the look that Kylie shot her when the two of us walked in through the door arm in arm was one of pure hatred. Kylie was 'off' with us all evening, and I'm sure that Ivanya noticed; although, again, she was far too polite to say anything. Ivanya treated Kylie with the utmost courtesy throughout, despite the metaphorical daggers that were shooting towards her from Kylie's eyes all night and the fact that Kylie slammed our drinks down onto the bar sullenly and with great force each time I ordered a new round.

A displeased looking young woman with folded arms, standing behind the bar of a public house

Kylie, not pleased at all to see Ivanya on my arm

I really can't understand what Kylie's problem is. So we found ourselves getting rather friendly with one another one night last month after a few too many tipples. That sort of thing happens all the time, does it not? Is she expecting a proposal of marriage from me, for heaven's sake?

Anyway, despite Kylie's best attempts, Ivanya and I managed to have a marvellous evening at the Cock and Bull. Ivanya went down very well with the locals, and it wasn't long before she was teaching them the words of the Russian national anthem. She soon had pretty much everybody belting it out enthusiastically while waving their vodkas in the air; all except Kylie, who remained scowling behind the bar throughout.

One person Ivanya made a very strong impression on was Beaker. He shuffled into the bar halfway through the evening, looking even more dishevelled than usual, with fresh scratch-marks on his face and arms and with even more dubious-looking brown stains on his clothing than he'd had the last time I saw him.

I introduced him to Ivanya and she gave him a radiant smile, holding out her hand for him to kiss it. The effect on Beaker was instant. I've never seen anything like it. His mouth dropped open, his tongue lolled out, a dreamy, puppy-dog expression came over his face and he blushed as red as a pillar box. To top it all, he started drooling. He managed to blurt out a few words while fiddling with his trousers, which seemed to be causing him some trouble, before apologising and hurrying off to the toilet.

Ivanya took it all in her stride. I think she is used to having quite an effect on people, and I had warned her about Beaker's peculiarities beforehand. Beaker seemed rather more composed when he returned from the toilet, and we actually managed to have something approaching a normal conversation - which is really the best one can hope for as far as Beaker is concerned.

"Given the state of you and the strong animal scent that's coming off you, am I right to assume that you haven't got rid of that damn chimp yet?" I asked.

Beaker explained that he was still in possession of 'Mr Chuckle'. Apparently he'd contacted Gypping Life Sciences to ask whether they would accept him back, but they had declined, saying that they weren't prepared to take back an animal that had mauled three members of staff. They had suggested that if Beaker was finding Mr Chuckle too much to handle, he should contact Gypping Petfoods to see if they would be interested in taking him off his hands; but Beaker said that he didn't have the heart to have Mr Chuckle turned into dog food.

Ivanya was intrigued: having expected that Beaker would be getting rid of the chimp, I hadn't told her anything about his psychotic new 'pet'. She asked Beaker to tell her more... and he did just that, going into tedious detail about his 'three monkey theorem' experiment and what his plans were for Mr Chuckle. After having heard all about it, Ivanya prodded me awake - I must have nodded off in my chair for a moment - and, to my horror, suggested to Beaker that we all go back to his house to meet Mr Chuckle in person.

Spluttering vodka through my nose, I warned Ivanya that this was not a good idea, and told her what had happened the last time I met Mr Chuckle. But Ivanya was insistent, saying that she had 'a way with animals'. And Beaker was very keen on the idea.

So it was that, despite my protestations, eleven o'clock saw the three of us saying goodnight to Kylie (who spat on the floor behind the bar in response) and making our somewhat unsteady way through the streets of Gypping in the Marsh towards Beaker's house. I had expected to hear Mr Chuckle long before we came to Beaker's front door, but to my surprise the streets were silent. I commented on this to Beaker.

"Oh, he's usually asleep by this time," explained Beaker. "I think he tires himself out by throwing his poo around and banging his typewriter against the bars all day."

After a small amount of fumbling with his keys, Beaker eventually unlocked his front door and we stepped into the hallway. I had thought that Beaker's house smelt bad the last time I was there, but this time the stench hit us like a wall.

"I still haven't managed to clean his cage out properly," said Beaker, kicking piles of comics, bottles, cans, boxes and banana skins to one side in an attempt to clear a way through to the kitchen. Having made a way through the rubbish, Beaker opened the kitchen door, turned on the light, and in we stepped. The smell, strong as it was in the hallway, was overwhelming in the kitchen. Gagging slightly, I placed my handkerchief over my mouth and nose. Ivanya, to my surprise, did not seem to be affected.

There, in the tiny cage in the middle of the filthy kitchen floor, lay Mr Chuckle, fast asleep on a bed of ripped papers and snoring gently, with his head resting on his typewriter.

"Oh good, he's asleep," I whispered to Ivanya through the handkerchief. "Shall we go now that you've seen him?"

But Beaker had other ideas.

"Mr Chuckle!" cried Beaker, picking up a dirty mug from the teetering pile of crockery next to the sink and banging it against the bars of the cage. "Mr Chuckle, some friends have come to see you!"

Mr Chuckle awoke with a start, fixed Beaker with an evil glare, bared his teeth and started rooting around his cage for something to throw. I ducked instinctively. But then, something amazing happened. Ivanya coughed. Taking his gaze off Beaker, Mr Chuckle noticed her for the first time. The chimp's mouth dropped open, his tongue lolled out, a dreamy, puppy-dog expression came over his face and he started drooling. If chimps could blush, I'm sure he would have done so. Ivanya had exactly the same effect on Mr Chuckle as she had had on Beaker earlier that evening. And then, still staring at Ivanya, rather than reaching for a turd to toss at us, Mr Chuckle reached down between his legs and started... how shall I put this... tossing something else.

A chimpanzee with a bloody bandage around its head, clutching a typewriter, sitting on a bed of ripped-up papers in a small cage

Mr Chuckle, calm for once having seen Ivanya

"Oh, what a charming creature!" exclaimed Ivanya delightedly. "He's such a sweetie."

She turned to Beaker.

"You two could be brothers," she said, beaming. "You're so alike in so many ways."

For some reason, Beaker seemed pleased with this comparison. As for myself, I was dumbfounded, and astonished at the effect Ivanya had had on the creature.

Just then, I noticed the pile of ripped-up papers that Mr Chuckles - now masturbating furiously - was sitting on.

"Beaker, what are all those letters in the cage?" I demanded.

"Ah... they're the letters I've got from your constituents," replied Beaker, blushing again. "I was getting around to answering them, but I put the pile of letters a little bit too close to the cage, and..." He tailed off, looking sheepishly at me.

"You bloody idiot!" I shouted. "There must be a hundred letters in there, if not more. Can't you get them out of the cage?"

"Believe me, I tried," said Beaker, showing me his bloody hands and arms. "I gave up."

"Well try again," I said. "I want those letters out of that cage, taped back together and answered by the end of the week."

At that, I took Ivanya by the hand, announced that we were leaving, and headed for the door. Ivanya lingered.

"Goodbye, Beaker, moy malen'kiy vonyuchiy chelovechek," she said, bending down to give him a peck on the cheek - being very careful to pick a relatively clean part of his cheek, I couldn't help but notice. "And goodbye Mr Chuckle," she said, turning to the chimp, who was staring fixedly at her while working away energetically with his hands. "I hope that I will see you both again soon."

Beaker blushed an even deeper red. As we left the kitchen, I looked back to see Beaker bend over in front of Mr Chuckle's cage, grab a handful of papers and start to pull them back through the bars. I imagine he was trying to make the most of Mr Chuckle being preoccupied. Unfortunately, just at that moment, Mr Chuckle reached the climax of his exertions, and Beaker was very much in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Beaker," I called back over my shoulder, "make sure you get a shower before I see you again. And get rid of that damn ape."

With that, Ivanya and I took our leave. And the rest of our time together passed most pleasantly indeed, although one can still smell the stench of Beaker's house on Ivanya's fur coat. I think it will be some time before that wears off.

If you have written to me in the past few weeks, there is a possibility that your letter was one of the ones that ended up as chimp bedding. If that is the case and Beaker or I do not respond to a letter you have sent me, please accept my sincere apologies, and try writing to me again.

I am pleased to announce that the eighth 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 most trusted associates: the eminent lawyer Welsby, of the legal firm Elton and Welsby. Welsby has one of the finest legal brains in Lincolnshire. He's certainly dug me out of a legal hole or two in the past... and I know for a fact that I'm not the only Gypping in the Marsh resident who has had cause to be thankful for his legal expertise.

I know Welsby to be a very modest, quiet individual who tends to shun the limelight, but I think it's high time that a spotlight were shone upon his undoubted talents.

Click here to access the podcast.

Gilbert Murray MP

The Gypping in the Marsh Podcast

19th December 2024 - An update about Mr Murray, and Noelmas greetings, from Beaker

Hello everybody. This is not Mr Murray writing this. It is Beaker. I am Mr Murray's PA and he gives me lots of important things to do like reading people's letters when they write to him and answering them and I manage to do that most of the time but I haven't managed to answer some letters recently because Mr Chuckle used some of them for bedding and pooed on some of them and ripped some of them up. Mr Chuckle is my chimp and he is very nice when he is asleep.

Anyway Mr Murray has asked me to write his blog for him this week because he is 'indisposed' which is a word I had to look up to understand what it meant. And because he is indisposed he can't write his weekly blog and that is why he has asked me to do it for him. Mr Murray asked me not to give out any details of why he is indisposed but lots of people have been asking me and I think it is best to let people know so that they stop wondering why he is not around and I am sure he won't mind me telling people.

Mr Murray is indisposed this week because he is in hospital. He told me that he invited a French maid called Madame Oohlala round to his flat in London. I thought he must have got her in to clean his flat but when I visited Mr Murray's flat to sort some things out for him I came across one of her business cards and it doesn't mention cleaning. It talks about 'obedience training' and 'firm corrective actions for disobedient boys' which makes her sound more like a dog trainer to me and Mr Murray doesn't have a dog so I don't really know why he got her to visit his flat.

A business card advertising a 'French Maid'

Madame Oohlala's business card

Anyway it's all a bit confusing and I don't know how it happened but Mr Murray says he accidentally sat on Madame Oohlala's feather duster and somehow the handle got stuck up his bottom and he couldn't get it out and a bit broke off in there and it was very sharp and he had to go to hospital to get it removed and it caused some internal bleeding and his bottom got infected and now he has to stay in hospital until his bottom gets better and he is very grumpy about that and he is in a lot of pain. He was also very grumpy because the nurses wouldn't let him have any alcohol so he asked me to sneak some bottles of whisky in with me when I went to visit him so I did and he stashed them under his bed and that made him a bit happier and I've got to go and visit him every few days and bring him some more bottles each time and take away the empties. It's funny the things you have to do when you are a PA.

A feather duster with the wooden handle broken off

The broken feather duster

So that is why Mr Murray is indisposed and they say he will probably be in hospital until after Noelmas and that is very sad because I know Mr Murray enjoys the Noelmas celebrations at the church in the village. Although I know that he doesn't enjoy the celebrations as much as Reverend Murray does because I used to be the verger at the church and I know Reverend Murray looks forward to giving out some extra ritual scourging and excoriation at Noelmas. I have still got some scars from last year's Noelmas service on my back because Reverend Murray always goes at it really hard when it is me because he doesn't really like me very much after all the things that happened when I was verger but that was a long time ago.

When I was leaving Mr Murray's London flat I bumped into Mr Murray's nice new girlfriend and his friend Georgy in the hallway. They were coming out of the flat next door to Mr Murray's when I saw them which was a bit odd because Mr Murray's nice new girlfriend lives in a flat upstairs and his friend Georgy doesn't live in the same building and I didn't think they knew each other. They were chatting away to each other in what I think must have been Russian and laughing but as soon as they saw me they stopped chatting and laughing and they both looked a bit surprised and awkward for a moment and Georgy tried to hide what I think was a little video camera behind his back but they both said hello to me and Mr Murray's nice new girlfriend smiled at me so I think I must have just surprised them. Maybe they know whoever lives in the flat next door to Mr Murray's and they had been watching some home movies together or something like that.

I like Mr Murray's nice new girlfriend but I don't think I like Mr Murray's friend Georgy very much. It was his fault that I got drunk on the Feast Day of Saint Bodkin and it was his fault that I ended up taking part in the ceremony and that didn't end well and it still hurts when I sit down even weeks later. Sometimes when Mr Murray is looking the other way I've seen Georgy with a look on his face that isn't very friendly and it makes me think that maybe Georgy is not as nice a man as Mr Murray thinks he is.

Anyway I am looking forward to the Noelmas holiday because I have just got myself a new pet to keep Mr Chuckle company. My friend at Gypping Life Sciences called me the other day and said they had an orangutan that they wanted to get rid of and would I be interested so I said yes and they delivered it yesterday. I have put his cage next to Mr Chuckle's cage in the kitchen and I have got another typewriter and put it in the orangutan's cage so now I have two monkeys not just one and hopefully one of them will manage to type out a fragment of Shakespeare before too long. I am calling the baboon Donald Trump because I think he looks a bit like Donald Trump only he doesn't have tiny hands like Donald Trump. I don't know what kind of experiments they did to him in the laboratory but he has been asleep all the time he has been here apart from waking up once to poo and eat a banana and then he went back to sleep. Hopefully he will wake up a bit more and start typing soon.

An orangutan, with a typewriter, in a very small cage

'Donald Trump'

I have managed to calm down Mr Chuckle. He stopped being so angry and screeching and throwing poo around when he saw Mr Murray's nice new girfriend so I had an idea. I printed off a photo that I had taken of Mr Murray's nice new girlfriend when she wasn't looking and pinned it up on the kitchen wall and now Mr Chuckle is a lot calmer. Instead of screeching and throwing poo around and banging his typewriter against the bars of his cage he spends all his time now looking at the photo of Mr Murray's nice new girlfriend and playing with himself. He plays with himself so much that he gets very tired so he sleeps a lot more too so that is good although he is starting to look a bit sore down there now. But hopefully Mr Chuckle and Donald Trump will be friends and they can type happily together when Mr Chuckle stops playing with himself and when Donald Trump wakes up.

Here's a picture of a pillar box in Gypping in the Marsh which the Women's Institute have decorated with a festive knitted cover to celebrate Noelmas. It's very pretty but they keep knitting pillar box cosies without any holes for the letters so I couldn't post my Noelmas cards the other day and I couldn't post my answers to the letters that I managed to grab out of Mr Chuckle's cage so if you have written to Mr Murray and you don't hear back from him very quickly you can blame the Women's Institute.

A pillar box with a festive knitted cover that makes it look like a Christmas tree

The festive pillar box, courtesy of the Women's Institute

The ninth episode of the Gypping in the Marsh Podcast is now on the Gypping in the Marsh village website and this week they are talking about me! Dean and Laura who present the podcast said lots of people had mentioned me in other podcast episodes and they thought I sounded like an interesting person so they thought an episode about my life would be good.

I liked talking to Dean and Laura about myself so that they could put together the podcast. I especially liked talking to Laura because she is very pretty and I liked the way she smiled but I was careful not to behave in a way that might disturb her because I have had problems like that in the past and it has not always ended well and Mr Murray is always telling me to remember something called 'Me Too' but I don't really know what he means to be honest.

Anyway if you want to listen to the podcast that is all about me you can click here to listen to it.

I am going to have a very busy few weeks looking after Mr Chuckle and Donald Trump and travelling to and from London to visit Mr Murray in hospital and keep him supplied with whisky. Anyway Mr Murray has asked me to wish you all a very Merry Noelmas and he said that I should wish a very Merry Christmas to anyone who isn't a member of the Church of Zeal or No Zeal. So Merry Noelmas or Merry Christmas to you all from me and Mr Murray who will be back at work in the new year as soon as his bottom is better.

Beaker (Gilbert Murray MP's PA)

PS. If you are looking for someone to clean your house or to train your dog, I wouldn't recommend Madame Oohlala given what happened to Mr Murray. If you do decide to hire her just be very careful when you sit down to make sure she's not left her feather duster on a chair.

The Gypping in the Marsh Podcast

Gilbert's next blogpost will be published on 2nd January (provided he is out of hospital by then). Don't miss it!

Previous month

Read more about the goings-on in Gypping in the Marsh in 'The Astrologer', in which Gilbert Murray, the finest astrologer in Gypping in the Marsh, attempts to help a bank official from Hong Kong steal a fortune out of a dead Iraqi general's bank account. What will the stars have in store for the hapless "Mr Minge"?