Fishman schemes for uncertain times (Patreon)

Occasionally (but increasingly frequently) I am awoken at about 3AM by the hands of Desmond Fishman, vigorously shaking me out of my hard-earned slumber. "Daddy," he says in his voice rich as plum pudding, "the country's going to the dogs and I know what to do about it." He pushes a pencil and pad into my hands and makes me transcribe his ideas. Only then does he go back to his attic bedroom whereupon I am allowed to return to sleep.

Now, not all of these ideas are fit for public consumption. But here are three of his suggestions to give Britannia a lift back into better days. I will present them in order of palatability.

"I consider this my manifesto. A lot of good ideas are being ignored. We're not using the resources we have - like the game of British Bulldog or sluggish newly-formed adults - to boost productivity and pull out of the post-pandemic slump."

 "After World War II, the Festival of Britain presented a nation that was bursting with ideas, many of which would form the backbone of nostalgia documentaries for decades to come. The Fishman Folk Fayre is just a small part of what I envisage as a huge programme of forward-looking events. But I haven't thought of any others yet. I just want to see Capstan Full Strength playing the classics, before my twilight rendezvous with The Marjories."

"This one's a bit more contentious so bear with me. Just as large swathes of the UK's protected "green belt" land are actually nondescript and ideal for carefully managed housebuilding projects, so too are the disused parts of our Royal Family being wasted. Prince Andrew has made mistakes, and rightly suffered censure. But his vital energy (remember: members of the Royal Family are 10x more powerful than regular Britons) could be redirected to invigorate economically depressed regions of the country eg the North East. So I thought he could tour a one-man show, "Poems of Apology" in regional theatres. He's sure to be a draw to the peanut gallery, and as word of mouth builds, he could eventually transfer to the West End, contributing millions of tourist pounds to the public coffers. At night he would sleep in the back of his car."