High up in the Helensburgh hinterland, the estate I own is tramelled by half a dozen burns. One day I must explore the extent of these lands other than conduct my customary expedition once a week to put the bins out.

We are fortunate to live where we do. It is beautiful. It is quiet. It is reassuringly
expensive. Happily, although I believe the council tax and water charges I pay are over-inflated, at least we can drink from the tap and, should it be desired, bathe in the burns.

There is not such an elysian existence in any postcode served by Thames Water. The management of this privatised utility has informed the world that it wants to increase its bills by 60 per cent, yes 60, to make sure its systems are up to scratch.

The cycnic in me would disregard this claim, and believe that the cash would follow millions squandered previously on egregious salaries for executives and payouts for shareholders.

All this from a company fined nearly £40 million for dumping raw sewage into the River Thames.

What goes on in people's heads? What on earth could make any government think that privatising any public utility is a good thing for the customers?

If you have the financial wherewithal to invest in these companies then I exhort you to do it. If not you should lobby your MP and get your dibs in to have all privatised utilities nationalised. That way profits are re-invested in infrastructure and not frittered away on already wealthy fat cats.

I don't think Margaret Thatcher did very much that was right for this country. Privatising things people need to reward the few to the detriment of the very many, was among the worst.

Mike Edwards' gentle disposition took a turn for the worse thanks to a stubborn wasp.Mike Edwards' gentle disposition took a turn for the worse thanks to a stubborn wasp. (Image: Canva)

Although I do an awful lot to cultivate the hard-nosed, hard-hearted, worldly-wise, tough guy image, inside lurks a gentle soul who would not harm anyone or anything.

I am particularly sentient to the suffering of animals. Yes, I am a carnivore, but I would hope that anything I eat dies a painless and quick death.

The soubriquet 'he wouldn't hurt a fly' is actually true in my case. Her Ladyship rolls her eyes
when I go to extreme lengths to swaddle bluebottles in a dishcloth and usher them back to the outside world.

All this bluff and bluster took a massive dunt the other day when I grew heart sick of watching a wasp batter itself against a window and resolutely refuse to buzz off, despite me opening every door and window in the place. 

Perhaps taking a liberty I would not take with, say, a lion, I tried to cup it in the top of a tin of shaving cream, when it wrapped itself around my finger, eschewed all attempts of mine to shake it off, and stung me.

The sting itself was virtually painless, but the subsequent dirl was not.

The changing weather means there will be fewer and fewer such anecdotes in the weeks and months ahead as we head inexorably towards the second winter of the year.

But when it's wasp time again, I'll be ready to rescue these doughty little spitfires with cloth in hand. And perhaps a decent pair of gloves as well.