Times columnist Libby Purves is no lover of the prophets of doom that assail her from every quarter. Here she is. ‘I can’t remember a time when we were more vigorously urged to squawk in alarm on a daily basis. When we take a short break from fretting that a virus might mutate into another different virus, which doesn’t yet exist, but which might, if it did exist, cause a pandemic of incurable flu, we are invited to consider the Greenland ice sheet. This is melting much faster than anybody thought and will soon drown us, not to mention the polar bears…global warming, terrorism, bird flu. You can fret and make yourself ill if you want, but leave me out.’ WARNING. No computer models were used to develop this opinion.

Meanwhile on the pavement of Whitehall not a few yards from Downing Street an Italian tourist chanced across a leaked copy of an advert for the Daily Mail blowing in a gust of wind from out of a window of the Cabinet Office. It read like this: 'Introducing the new Tessa Account. An incredible opportunity for investors. All you have to do is sign up for a Tessa and you get £350 000 paid directly via a series of offshore accounts into your bank...and you get your mortgage paid off! And it's all tax-free! Your Tessa account is guaranteed to give you a huge return of up to £350 000 overnight and you don't have to say or do anything! Just keep your mouth shut and watch your money grow, grow, grow!! Apply now to Il Banco di Berlusconi, Piazza di Silenzi, Milan for the investment opportunity of a lifetime sentence. (shurely 'lifetime'? Ed). WARNING: With a Tessa you can go down as well as up.

There is no truth in the rumour that Cabinet Minister Tessa Jowell is married to a Mr David Mills the tax avoidance adviser to the Italian Prime Minister. A government spokesman speaking off the record remarked: 'It is just one of those silly coincidences that happen when two people who hardly know each other and spend very little time together happen to have the same surname and live at the same address.'

I arrived in style by taxi at Old Purton Farmhouse at five o'clock after availing myself of the National Express shaving facilities at Victoria Coach Station and moving some money from London to Ashford courtesy of an internet shop on Victoria Street. A very social journey, meeting Mary Botwright on the platform in Rye and riding with her to Ashford and then having Sally who hosted last Sunday's soiree as my companion from Ashford to Staplehurst. One of Sally's three sisters lives in Cambridge and knows lots of dons and academics...could be helpful in getting digs when I finally get around to relocating away from Rye.

No sooner had I arrived than John Papworth whisked me off to Purton House to retrieve Tempe who must rank as the happiest dog in the world with two homes and a townful of admirers. We had tea and cake with Natalia Madison...and then helped ourselves to £17.72 of real good wholesome proper food. Here for the historical record is the produce we walked across town. '600gms courgettes £1.62; 700gms tomatoes £1.20; 700gms avocados £2.10; 500gms celery £0.45; 500gms spinach £1.60; 1100gms carrots £0.55; 1000gms onions £0.46; 600gms artichokes £0.75; 1300gms broccolli £1.00; 400gms lettuce £0.50; 200gms peppers £0.50; 100gms garlic £0.70; and a box of bean sprouts £ 0.40.' Not bad for a orphan boy from Stepney a stone's throw from Brick Lane and born within the sound of Bow Bells.

Natalia is the daughter of Douglas Barker, the war criminal...see the front page story in The Independent on Thursday 8th December 2005 by Jason Bennett & Terry Kirby. The war crime in question was withholding a portion of his income tax as a demonstration against The Iraq War. Thanks to the publicity a stand-off developed between Douglas and the tax gestapo with the national media on alert to swoop in by helicopter the moment the bailiffs marched in and broadcast the scene Waco-style on nationwide TV. But then Douglas paid a new chunk of income tax, the Inland Revenue grabbed at the chance of a face saver and a bit of it was used to pay off the unpaid tax bill...hey presto...problem sidelined for another twelve months. Douglas Barker must feel as irritated as Thoreau did when one of his friends paid his tax bill without his knowledge or approval.

Oxtail was on the menu for dinner...with much too much wine on the side. John tells me that you need an Aga to cook oxtail. 'And when did you last eat that?' he asked. 'Four weeks ago,' was my reply, 'When I was here the last time. But not for 40 years before that.'

I was slightly drunk as we left for The Angel...which appeared to work wonders. I don't remember ever being able to place darts where I want to before. I moved rapidly from 301 to 51 and then threw Double 15, 1, 20 to win the match. But being such a long time since I last played I couldn't remember whether this counted as a winning go or whether finishing with a double meant just that. My host was given the benefit of the doubt. But it didn't do him much good. Next go I threw a 10 and a 1 before rounding off an impressive display with a Double Twenty. On to three-card brag where I proceeded to sweep two of the three jackpots and went home with £16 in my pocket that had not been there before. I could get into this gambling lark. Feels rather good winning.