Xavier's list ... peerless pin-ups ... Jagger nominates Queen

Captain Moonlight

YOU KNOW the Captain likes to help. And this week, I have some tips for Michael Portillo, about whom I am worried. Now, heaven knows, I'm no trick cyclist, but, if you ask me, all Michael's problems spring from the denial of his essential Spanishness. This is what causes the excessive Britishness. So what I would say is this: Michael, relax, we know you're really a Spaniard, and it doesn't matter. We won't mind at all if you start hanging out in tapas bars and having a bit of a kip after lunch. I am also proposing that you should be known henceforth by your middle name and that you should spell your surname to emphasise the Spanish pronunciation.Thus: Xavier Porteeoh. That's better, isn't it? Now, these enemies you mentioned at Blackpool, Xavier, the ones whose spines have a chill sent down them when they hear the three letters "SAS". I think you would have done better to explain just who they are, so that we would know what you were on about. I'll do it for you. Stand by with your pencils, Hereford, here it is, Xavier Porteeoh's List Of Enemies: 1) Ernst Stavro Blofeld 2) Fu Manchu 3) Professor Moriarty 4) Mr McGregor 5) Captain Hook 6) Desperate Dan McGrew 7) Eskimo Nell 8) Delia Smith 9) the Gingerbread Man 10) those officials at the Ministry of Defence who refer to Xavier as "The Alien" and who were briefing foreign journalists after the speech last week that Xavier was "sending the wrong signals".

n SOME WEEKS ago, I brought you news that the hunt was on to replace Stella Rimington as head of MI5. And now, as we columnists like to say, reports of an intriguing new contender reach me. For Ms Rimington has been spotted lunching with Alan Rusbridger, editor of the Guardian. Yes, I know I was tipping Joanna Lumley, but Rusbridger would be ideal. This is a man who gives so little away that even his opinions don't know he holds them. Experienced media and intelligence analysts, meanwhile, are still poring over transcripts of their conversation; can anybody help to explain the significance of "the trout's generally quite good here"?

THOSE OF US who know about these things have been viewing all this fuss about the links between Alan Howarth, the turned Tory, and Lady Hollis, the Labour peer and alleged turner, with some amusement, principally because of the general astonishment that a member of the Upper House could be described as a "bit of a cracker". We know that the place is packed with heart-throbs, even if some of them are assisted by pacemakers. To give you an idea I am printing pictures of just four of the Tory Hunks In Ermine. Take a bow, Lord Alexander of Weedon. Bob is a banker (NatWest) and barrister: we'd love to cheque out his defence! Hallo, Lord Denham. Bertie writes thrillers in his spare time; here's hoping he can spare some time to thrill us! Step forward, Lord Deedes. Bill's a journalist and keen gardener: you should see his cuttings! And finally, Lord Stevens, owner of Express Newspapers, pocket Adonis. We'd certainly buy a paper from you, Stevie!

n SPONSORSHIP News: new or unfaithful readers should now look up at the Captain's Hat and discover that this is an officially sponsored column, with oodles of the sponsor's product to give away. But this week I am not as happy as I was. R U Tawney, my wine correspondent, has sent me the November issue of Wine magazine. It contains the results of an exhaustive tasting of nearly 50 late-bottled port labels, including Graham's LBV, the noble product given to me to give to you by my sainted sponsors. But what do we find? No fewer than 10 other labels preferred to Graham's LBV by the expert team of tasters. Not only that, but, by my count, no fewer than five of them other labels owned by the owners of W & J Graham, the Symington family. Not only that, but one taster described our stuff as having "a rather blowsy palate". Well. I think I will have to make inquiries up the Douro.

CAPTAIN Moonlight's Interactive Corner. Look upon this, dear readers, as your small part of the column. This is the deal: you tell me something interesting; I send you a bottle of sponsor's port. This week, Mr Warton, of Dunkeswell, Devon, writes to tell me more about King Arthur's Car Park, in Tintagel. Next door to the car park, Mr Warton reports, is the King Arthur pub, which features on its bar menu Excaliburger and Chips. Next, a Mr Flett, of north London, purporting to represent the Conker Liberation Front (this man, you may recall, also purports to represent the Beard Liberation Front), writes to tell me that talk of a conker shortage is misinformation put about by acorn fetishists, and that Karl Marx and Frederick Engels used to play conkers on Parliament Hill Fields. The Captain replies: you'll have to do bloody well to get another bottle, Keith.

n AND NOW: the Trevor McDonald/Captain Moonlight award for exciting use of English. And the first recipient is a Mr Andrew Neil, author of a column in the Daily Mail, who conjured up this magnificent simile last week, apropos the Tory conference: "But it looks and sounds more like the dreary, tired swansong of an ancient regime heading for the gallows." A bottle of port for you, Mr Neil; just get in touch. Meanwhile, I wonder if you have thought of approaching Moulinex mixers for sponsorship.

SO, THERE I was, you know, reading the newspaper when I saw that they'd had this poll of which women famous men most admired. And then I saw that Mick Jagger had nominated the Queen. "She is the only woman I actually admire," he was quoted as telling Women's Journal. Wow. Street Fighting Man, public urination, drugs busts, Satisfaction, Hyde Park, all to end like this. I mean, like I could forgive membership of the MCC, but this. Tell me it isn't true, I implored his press office. "It isn't true," they said. It's a quote taken from the Sixties late at night when Mick was being, you know, as ironic as a newt. So that's all right then; my generation is not yet finally betrayed.

n MOONLIGHT Christmas Planner. Watch out, very carefully, for these pantos: Hinge and Bracket, Keith Chegwin, Sooty and Gareth Chilcott in Sleeping Beauty at the Theatre Royal, Bath; Kimberley Davies (Neighbours), Little and Large, and Dooby Duck in Goldilocks and the Three Bears, at the Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton. And here's an early stocking idea: the BBC's Top Gear magazine is offering a tape of the sound of 88 of the world's greatest racing cars from 1904 to 1994 for just pounds 4.99. Tell you what: I've got a copy here. And the first person who can tell me Nigel Mansell's mother's maiden name gets it.

WHAT they didn't want you to see: Moonlight cameras catch the moment when a John Major aide hands over a backhander to secure a standing ovation for his master at last week's Tory party conference in Blackpool. Rex "Bertie" Bassett, leader of the Tory Terriers for Britain luncheon club, often described as "barking mad" by more moderate elements in the party, is about to receive 30 of those chocolate buttons which ensure a glossy coat and alert manner. Well, no, of course, it isn't; it is, in fact, the scene at Blackpool seconds after Sir George Young, the bicycling baronet and transport secretary, had mounted the podium to speak. Sir George's dog, Tyson, is seen seeking to persuade a delegate to stay. Oh, all right, it's a security check.

Photograph: PA

The Captain's catch-up Service

WELCOME to the news review that makes you wonder ... David Mandell, a lecturer in technical drawing at London Guildhall University, has put his home in Stanmore on the market after dreaming that it will be destroyed by an earthquake next April. Mr Mandell has ignored previous dreams to his cost. Five years ago he dreamt that his Morris Marina would be stolen. Car thieves struck the following day ... An anger management therapist is under arrest in Los Angeles for punching a client so hard he killed him ... Ramon Pont, of Lerida, Spain, kissed his Doberman as a reward for seeing off burglars. Unfortunately, it then bit his nose off ... Stevie Huddart, lead singer of a band called Indecent Proposal, was on stage in Carlisle, singing his own lyrics to a Take That hit when his mum, Hilda, leapt on to the stage and hit him for being crude. "There I was trying to be cool and sexy when suddenly I'm getting a good hiding from my mum," said Stevie ... Raoul Garzas, of Sao Paulo, pleaded on television for help in tracking down his long-lost father, and then shot him dead when they were re-united. "I'd always hated him," said Raoul.