Hello, hello, Bosie Giddy-Gaylord here.

Last night, as I sat perched in a tree overlooking the master bedroom of the Jamés Estate, feeling somewhat like the vigorous, or be it morally analphabetic, Noel Blunt, I realised something amazing: everything - absolutely, positively, fabolously everything - that Lord Jamés does emanates masculinity and potency. It practically oozes right out of him.

Last night, for example, he prepared some patented Jamés chili for his missus and himself, while in a most manly fashion strutting about the kitchen and ever so often scratching his breathtaking scrotum through the black fabric of his pantaloons. Isn't that just to die for? He then proceeded to watch a picture show in his private in-estate-cinema, and managing to do so while at the same time being a sexy, well-proportioned and bearded man of the world.

After the show the lights were turned off and Lord Jamés watched from his window as policemen chased me off the premises. But I have no doubt in my mind, and groin, that Lord Jamés was as bewildering, enchanting and virile as ever throughout the concluding events.

More about Lord Jamés's beard and figure, as well as an exclusive in-depth analysis of the shape and size of his trousers, in next month's issue.

Fabolous holidays, everyone!

Sincerely dripping,

Bosie.