The hall is available at an almost peppercorn rent, so long as people use the bar facilities offered.

But the state it was left in by a recent reception must have left the village hall committee in despair.

There was beer cans everywhere, litter everywhere, condoms lying around. It resembled a warzone.

The hall is used by children, young children, and it shouldn't have been left to the committee members to clean up other people's mess.

The wedding party just locked up, went home, and probably threw up looking at the amount consumed.

I very much doubt it will happen, but if anyone who went to the wedding in question is reading this – and I suspect you will know who you are – a small contribution to the cleaning bill would be appropriate.

The inside of the hall, I am told, even needs a lick of paint as a result of the proceedings.... they were told not to use sellotape but ignored it. Heaven forbid the needs of a community and village hall rules should ruin their special day...

ADVERTS. I settled down on Tuesday to watch the Champions League, coffee and biscuits at the ready, to be entertained by Arsenal.

Kick off 7.45pm, it was around 7,43pm, prime-time advertising.
Imagine my surprise when I was confronted by an admittedly attracive lady in a bowler hat advertising the Bradford & Bingley.

Now, I'm no advertising executive, but three days after you've been bailed out by the government with billions of pounds of debt, and been broken up and sold to the highest bidder, doesn't strike me as the best time to be advertising your wares.

Surely they are better to lie low?

Especially when the advert seemed to be suggesting that the Bradford & Bingley is a bank to trust with your money? Maybe they still are, but is the average viewer going to agree?
Throwing good money after bad...

MARY POPPINS. My eldest daughter is three and a half, and she is, to put it bluntly, obessed with Mary Poppins. She knows the songs, she even has a Mary Poppins umbrella.

The problem is I am finding myself singing the songs. I'll be walking along the road absently mindly humming Step in Time or Just a Spoonful of Sugar when I realise that people are looking at me slightly oddly.

It's only a matter of time before I start talking in a Cockney accent and sweeping chimneys...

TELEVISION. Why do the ever-so bright programmers at our television channels think that views only want to watch comedy on Thursdays and Fridays? On Wednesday night Anna was out. I thought, wrongly as it turned out, that I'd watch a bit of TV.

I thought, wrongly as it turned out, that I'd find something remotely funny. But as I stumbled through crime drama after award ceremony after drivel, getting increasingly frustrated, I began to thank the Lord for Sky. Giving up on terrestrial TV, I turned to the never-before-watched channel Dave, with re-runs of Never Mind the Buzzcocks followed by Catherine Tate.

Nice one Dave, whoever you are.