Meet Delores. Selina’s eldest sister. This is a very rare picture of her. Firstly, because she’s not talking. Secondly because she usually crushes any offending camera with her bare paws and shoves it up the offending cameraman’s arse.

Something to do with being on some kind of invalidity benefit of which no one dare speak. Or photograph her upright and take it to the authorities.

So Delores is staying with us at the moment. I doubt it’s because she’s been thrown out of her state funded semi-detached house. Not even the crack Navy Seal squad that got Bin Laden would take on that mission. More likely she’s savaged a neighbour and is laying low for a while.

Laying low does not involve keeping quiet. Delores talks at a thousand words a minute and at thousand decibels.

Today’s subjects are: the awful Charles Saatchi – not a good advert for adverts; Turkish waiters – not to be trusted but otherwise a good shag; is Simon Cowell for real or just a little bit surreal; will the royal baby be called Delores even if its a boy; where can she find Rihanna and her people and kill them in a fair fight; or in an unfair fight.

In fairness, Delores has a lot of her own people to take on Rihanna’s people. A big Irish travelling rabbit family. But nothing like Watership Down travelling rabbits. Little travelling actually involved. More drinking and shouting.

Anyways, I’m at the pub on the other side of the estate to keep out the way.  And I can still hear her loud and clear. Fast Gerald the Tortoise has put on earplugs and gone back into his shell. No use whatsoever. Everyone else is just drinking very very heavily.

So the question is not why Delores is not wot she used to be. Unfortunately she is exactly wot she’s always been. The question is why the fuck Delores is not where she’s supposed to be. Namely, somewhere else. Watch this space.