Dance with who brung it

Want to score with outposts of the Empire?

Before you fly in from your Bainbridge boudoir, Sloane Street seraglio, Hong Kong hotspot, or millionairess Makati penthouse - just asking "Can we bring anything?" cuts an iceberg's worth of icy goodwill."

We're deprived out here: we sing, we dance; we's simple folks.

Latest editions of the Times of Telegraph make us swoon

Some old sponger off my mum has been angling to come out and I've been making with the grumpy face and threatening lack of "co-operation".

This afternoon the old bird calls and gets me and wants to check can she bring anything?

I blurt out The Book of Dave, for which I'll repay. ("Won't hear of it, darling.")

Then the kill: "Marjorie tells me you're a guitarist. I asked my nephew Luke who knows about these things and I wondered if I might contribute a set of La Bella Black Nylon to your store."

Totally snookered; I am her slave.

Mum: Was that the phone?

Me: Lady P. She's arriving on Aegean, 6am.

M: You were *nice*, weren't you?

Me: Said I'd be pleased to collect her.

Mother: (thinks) The boy's coming round.