This little Hogg ... sheeping bag ... Boney barley

Bbrrnngg! The telephone rings. After some little time, I find it, concealed under my invitations to the Sun Page Three Calendar and Screen Saver launch and the Steinbeck Memorial Prize awards. It is The Editor. "All these Hoggs," He shouts. "What is the point of them?" I murmur something about distinguished public service over many generations, thankless toil asking no reward, but He will have none of it. "They're Tories!" He shouts, interrupting, before hanging up. Well. In response, I have compiled an exclusive list, Ten Good Things You Didn't Know About The Hoggs. 1) The original Quintin Hogg, a sugar grower, founded what was Regent Street Poly and is now the University of Westminster, Alma Mater of Miss UK 1994. 2) His son, Douglas, the first Viscount Hailsham, Lord Chancellor, presided over the last trial of a peer by his peers when Lord de Clifford was charged with manslaughter in 1935. 3) His son, Quintin (you will discern a pattern), Lord Chancellor, rang a bell loudly at the Tory Party Conference in 1957. 4) He used to go swimming in the morning before conference sessions, too. 5) He was taken up on a hoist to inspect the cockpit of a helicopter at the Boat Show in 1957 (see my picture). 6) He used to sit on the Woolsack whispering "bollocks" fairly sotto voce during speeches by bishops. 7) His son, Douglas, the Agriculture minister, proved most useful when he first came to the Commons. His desk was in the division lobby and other Tory MPs played a game of throwing rolled- up order papers at him. They scored five if they hit him on the head. 8) Lady Hogg, his wife, bought him that funny hat he wears. 9) Lady Hogg, when she was just Sarah and head of the Downing Street policy unit, used to annoy Norman Lamont (and everybody else, to be fair). 10) She also invented the "back to basics" policy which added so generously to the gaiety of the nation and the embarrassment of numerous Tory MPs (although Barbara Cartland also claimed the credit).

MR Tony Blair. You won't find him shying away from that tough, tough place where impossibly sentimental beliefs interface with the need to wake up, say "hello" and give the real world a "high-five", I can tell you. So let's give a similar welcome to the King's College NHS Trust, in south London. The trust has 3,500 people on its payroll. And, tucked into the envelopes with their latest wage slips, is a leaflet advising them of the advantages of private health care. Well done, King's!

THE Prime Minister, I have noticed, has his detractors. He is mocked for his background, incompetence and underwear arrangements. Today, as part of my minority remit, I should like to enter a note of praise for his admirable consistency of manner. His sister, Mrs Jean Dessoy, in an interview in the Daily Telegraph, has recalled the occasion when Mr Major managed to miss a flight to the Continent. And what were the circumstances of this failed connection? A stand-up row at check-in? A mix-up at passport control? A sudden illness? A brave have-a-go attempt to tackle a fleeing drug smuggler? No, none of these: he was having a cup of tea and didn't hear the announcement. We'll miss him, you know.

INTERACTIVE Corner. This is the spot in the column where you submit the fruits of your well-stocked minds and I used to reward you with a gift from our sponsors. But, for the moment, I am sponsorless. Courage! It will not be for long, despite that savage snub from Horlicks. Meanwhile, my thanks to those generous souls who write to me inspired by no other motive than the spread of knowledge. Typical is Mr Chatfield of Nottingham, who was not at all surprised by my report of sheep attacking hikers and eating their packed lunches in the Brecon Beacons. He awoke in his bivouac up there one cold night in 1954 to find his army rations snaffled and a sheep asleep between him and the adjoining national serviceman. And Mrs Antell of Wimborne writes to say that her son will be getting married in August at the parish church in Rainford, Lancs, right opposite the excellent Nevins supermarket there (this week, Heinz Spaghetti Bolognaise, 29p for a 210g tin). Good luck, Mr Antell: I'll get everybody to wave. Next!

AT AROUND 10 o'clock on Wednesday evening it began to be borne in upon me that many of my fellow countrymen were failing to join the Moonlight household in its ecstatic celebrations of England's triumph in the European Championships. Call me an emotional old fool, but I thought beating the Welsh by 26 points to 12 was pretty good. Sorry? Don't you read the newspapers? The Rugby League European Championships. The decider, in Cardiff. There's no need to be rude. France were in it as well, you know. Actually, to be honest, I was watching the football, but I thought a little joke might cheer you up. Suit yourself. I'm sorry it's over, too. What I really enjoyed was the press coverage. The Moonlight Award must go to the Daily Express, for an outstanding contribution on the morning of the big game: a full-page interview with the England team's bus driver. The MA would have gone to our sister paper, the Daily Mirror, if their photographer hadn't just failed to run Gazza over as he fled with a snatch picture of our hero fishing on the eve of the Spanish tie. Incidentally, I switched off my set and made a cup of tea at exactly 10.33 pm. This was when they began to interview David Mellor about the game. I rang the National Grid to see if they had registered a power surge at this time: curiously, they hadn't. Perhaps it isn't all over for the Tories, after all.

TURNING to related matters, I am proud to report that the Independent on Sunday played a crucial role in a week when English sport tried and so very nearly succeeded in putting a smile on the face and a spring in the step of every English man and woman, brought in the feel-good factor, increased productivity, tightened up public borrowing, and eliminated poverty. Anyway, come with me to some public courts in Wimbledon last Sunday, and, in particular, to that court where our picture editress, Miss Fraser, a Scot, was due to exercise the backhand cross-court pass that has made her a legend on both sides of the border. But, on the court, a self-effacing man in sore need of practice for the big tournament. Miss Fraser conceded, gracefully. You're right: it was Tim Henman. The Independent on Sunday: in there where it matters. Next!

ALSO, I hope you noticed a report in Le Canard Enchaine last week, the one that referred to Victor Hugo's Things Observed 1847-1848. In it, Vic recorded that the bones of the dead, both human and equine, from the battlefields of Austerlitz, Leipzig and Waterloo were transported to Hull, ground into powder and used to fertilise fields in Yorkshire. "Thus," commented Vic, "the last residue of Napoleon's victories are being used to fatten up English cows." What do you make of that? Personally, I have never trusted great French writers who interfere in northern affairs since reading Balzac's remark that Lancashire was "the country where women die of love". (I thought, too, that we won Waterloo.) But then, reading, as one does, Regional Trends 31, the invaluable publication of the Government Statistical Service, published last week, I noted that Yorkshire and Humberside had the highest yields in the country of both wheat and barley in 1994. They also have the highest micro-wave ownership, which you can ponder for yourself. The picture of Mr Tony Blair, in Der Spiegel last week (below), is provided mostly for members of the Labour Party in Scotland. And did you know that the junior Hogg (qv) and his comrade-in-arms, Herr Fischler, the EU agriculture commissioner, will be attending the Royal Agricultural Show tomorrow? Should be fun. Bye!

DO YOU remember that show Ask The Family - the one with Robert Robinson and all those smug families who knew absolutely everything, and all the fathers had beards and probably sandals, too, if you could have seen under the desk? I only ask because they used to have that spot featuring a photograph of an object taken from an unusual angle. Which is a little like my photograph, which is, in fact, a photograph of a photograph of a wooden pop-up toaster with the toaster in slices rather than the toast. It is the creation of Matthew Lanyon, the artist from Cornwall whose plates commemorating the Spanish raid on Mousehole, Newlyn and Penzance in 1595 I featured last year, to an almost complete absence of your interest. But I press on: Art is a calling with me, you know.

The Captain's Catch-up Service

WELCOME to the only news review that makes you go to the foot of your stairs ... Four skydivers dressed as Elvis Presley were injured when high winds blew them off target in Boston, Mass ... Two empty lager bottles abandoned 300 feet underground halted the world's largest particle nuclear reactor near Geneva by interfering with its electron beam ... Asian pensioners in Islington, north London, have complained about curries provided by the council's meals-on-wheels service because they are too spicy