John Gibson: We counted 'em all in Davie boy . .

Has he nothing better to do? Like plumping his cushions. Murdoch mayhem. Exploding sewage in Princes Street Gardens. Beckhams and their swaddling clothes. An ongoing war we'll never win in Afghanistan. An imminent shambles in Shandwick Place.

And all the painfully precious David Attenborough contributes to the maelstrom around him is a plea for folk to help in his Big Butterfly Count to see if the warm spring has reduced their numbers.

Come off it, Dave. Get a life. Join the real world. You need a week away at Alton Towers.

What an owler!

Basking in Barcelona. Brian Donkin, alias The Mad Colonel, has been summering there but Leith remains home base for the publican/restaurateur.

Still gotta lotta bottle. Indeed he was carrying one en route to a business appointment with his legal eagle adviser when we met in the West End Village.

The Colonel is invariably good for a giggle. His latest hoot: Why do owls never make love in the rain? 'Cos it's too wet to woo. An old one but it wears well. You should be stripped of your uniform for that, Mr D.

Hacked off

I feel it incumbent upon me to assure you I've had nowt to do with the hacking scandal. But now, on digging deep into my man bag, behold . . . the Queen's tax return, Wills' Speedos and a nether garment purporting to belong to Sandi Toksbig.

Had a News International honcho planted this? My investigative journalism was non-productive. Andy Coulson denied all knowledge. Mr Murdoch himself was "too busy". Rebekah was washing her hair.

Just allow me to swear, on oath, that this column has never at any stage been implicated in this wholly reprehensible business.