No rest for the British ... 'The Fayed on Sunday'? ... Patsy's piggy

NOW THEN: high time we had a campaign, the Captain writes. Something that with determination, implacability and sheer bloody mindedness, we can all achieve together. I'm talking about lunching and sleeping. First of all last week, I learnt that Britain was beginning to lag seriously behind the rest of Europe over the length of time we take for lunch: some 20 minutes less on average than France or Italy; 40 minutes less than the Spaniards. Our average lunch time was 30 minutes. Yes, 30 minutes. It takes me longer than that to get to the club. Most people, apparently, take sandwiches at what I understand is referred to as their "work station". Next I read that British scientists believe we all sleep too much and that there is a move afoot to turf people out of libraries if they fall asleep. Enough! Can I be the only person left here who needs nine hours a night, a substantial lunch taken in congenial company, and a kip afterwards? No wonder yet another set of figures revealed that the working life of the Briton is getting shorter and shorter. What's the point of rushing through it all to spend years smiling vacuously in leisure wear (I've seen all those pension adverts)? Let's relax a little. Look at my photograph (top right) and be inspired. I've even thought of a snappy title: Captain Moonlight's Campaign for a Longer Lunch and A Concomitant Inalienable Right to a Quick Kip Afterwards. Send in for your free info pack and sticker now. All together: ZZZZ!

n BAD NEWS for bibliophiles and secondhand bookdealers everywhere. Norman Lamont has decided to postpone his memoirs until after the next election. The worldly and cynical will no doubt make some unwarranted and gratuitous connection between the postponement and Norman's achievement in securing, at long last, the prospect of a seat in the House of Commons after the next election. The Captain says: congratulations, Harrogate! I for one am now looking forward to the glorious relaunch of the Conservative Party at its central council meeting at the end of March, to take place, naturally, in Harrogate, where the Prime Minister will be greeted by his old mucker. And the rest of us will just have to wait for that account of Black Wednesday featuring, I'm told, an emotional Prime Minister and a suave, nerveless, commanding Chancellor of the Exchequer. By the way, Normie won by just the three votes in Harrogate, pipping this column's old chum, the present chancellor's special adviser, David "Take Me" Ruffley. Next!

CAPTAIN'S Memo To Picture Editors, Smaller-Sized Newspapers: You know how it's come out that this new press secretary the Princess of Wales has appointed, Jane Atkinson, is very keen on pantomime and is directing one at the Strand-on-the-Green Infants' School next month? Yes, yes, we've done the jokes about experience in pantomime probably clinching the new job. But what I want to tell you is that a friend of mine has a grainy video recording of Ms Atkinson as principal boy in Mother Goose, legs and all. Form an orderly queue here on Tuesday, normal terms, highest bidder.Thank you.

n TRAGIC NEWS, I fear, for the Guardian and the Observer. Mr Mohamed al-Fayed, the high-class shopkeeper, seems to have decided against taking the ailing Sunday title off the Guardian's hands. He is now, I hear, occupying some space at the offices of Mr Tom Rubython, the publisher who is planning shortly to stun the media world with a new business newspaper. Taken, for some unfathomable reason, by Rubython's methods, Fayed has hired a team of grizzled hacks to work there on dummies for a new mid-market Sunday newspaper. And the best of luck.

CHANCING (during my peregrinations through south London) upon a beautiful garden square last week, I was mildly diverted to discover there a man walking a pig. The pig was very clean and wearing a collar. Inquiries yielded the information that the pig was being rehearsed for a starring role with one of the square's residents, Miss Joanna Lumley, who was going to take it to Parliament to protest about the transportation of live animals to Europe. I must say it looked good enough to eat. At Parliament, cuddling the pig and holding up a can of baked beans, Miss Lumley asked: "Which one has the feelings?" Quite. Actually, pork and beans can be really delicious. Which reminds me. I have had a note from Wing Co T F H Hudson of Berkshire informing me that Melton Mowbray became the home of pork pies because it housed the Army's Remount Depot "whence it drew its horses and whither it returned those unfit for service". Thank you, Wing Co, although I'm not sure I see the connection.

n SPONSORSHIP latest: talks continuing. Meanwhile I have to say that I am most disappointed that this kind offer by the family firm - Nevins Ltd, north-western supermarketeers of distinction - to step into the breach and offer you bottles of lager past their sell-by date in return for your wit and wisdom has resulted in an almost complete cessation of correspondence. For shame!

I DO hope you've been watching that gripping fly-on-the-wall stuff about the Royal Opera House. Because if you haven't, this little offering will mean absolutely nothing to you. Anyway, Mr Nasty, the "corporate affairs" man who wants to sack everybody and has such a lot of different jackets - what's his name, Keith Cooper - was delighted to be given a tie by the documentary makers at the end of filming. Far be it from me to temper his pleasure, but it is my understanding that the award of such ties is both traditional and non-complimentary. Meanwhile, I understand Mr Cooper has been standing in as front of house manager to all manner of hisses and imprecations from patrons. Such is life, I find.

n SIFTING and winnowing with the Captain: Sir Nicholas Lyell - you remember, the Attorney General - has, I hear, taken the precaution of setting up a press office for two weeks to coincide with the publication of the Scott report. What can this mean? That they will be fielding calls demanding to know why he hasn't resigned? Or that they will be fielding calls demanding to know where he goes from here? Don't ask me, guv, I'm only telling you what I hear.

BIRMINGHAM: a great city. And only one of you seems to have noticed that I spelt Perry Barr with an 'r' short in the course of my encomium last week. But I have sad news of the Labour group on the city council. There is fierce jostling among them for parliamentary seats. And now someone has produced a truly poisonous list of pen portraits of the happy crew. Concern for your Sunday and the laws of defamation prevent my giving you a flavour. Ladies, gentlemen! New Labour, New Harmany! Oh, dear. Sorry, Harriet, sorry, Tony.

n YOU all know me: delightful unless crossed. And yes, that means you, That's Life magazine. Dogged readers will remember that it was my innocent diversion from time to time last year to publish a charming photograph of Mr Peter Preston, the magician and editor in chief of the Guardian and Observer, in the act of carrying out a magical manoeuvre with a guillotine. This photograph had appeared originally in That's Life, submitted, purportedly, by a reader. But what is this: an invoice from the said magazine claiming copyright and a fee, with VAT, of pounds 940 for use on four occasions. The Captain says: preposterous! What price liberty and freedom? You can threaten us, but we have a higher duty! What about pounds 150?

The Captain's catch-up Service

AND a big welcome once again to my weekly trawl of some noticeable events which may have passed you by ... The biggest deployment of British troops to America since the War of Independence is under threat because Britain's last operational assault ship is suffering from rust ... Australian psychic Carmen Lomax is suing her boss after seeing him make indecent advances to her in a vision ... The new Grimsby phone book contains namesakes of Sharon Stone, Jack Nicholson, Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtis ... Les Latham, from Essex, wants his ashes to be sprinkled on the model of HMS Victory he has been building for 15 years and the boat set alight on a pond ... A brawl ended with 120 men called Henry landing in jail in Sydney after a "Henry" convention ... Lieutenant-General Geoffrey "Tinny" Dean died. General Dean was awarded an MC in the Western Desert and despite losing a leg later in the war played tennis until he was 81. His nickname, Tiny, was extended to Tinny when he joined the Royal Tanks Corps in 1931 ... A collection for the Duchess of York launched by the Sun realised pounds 351.58 plus sundry other items including a tea bag.