Just like inbreeding among the upper classes and a fondness for cheap lager, the honours system could only continue to thrive in Britain. (From Warrington Guardian)

Just like inbreeding among the upper classes and a fondness for cheap lager, the honours system could only continue to thrive in Britain.

Twice a year whole reams of the great and good, and the odd dinner lady, are published to celebrate another royal birthday or reward Tony Blair's pals for greasing Labour's wheels.

Peter Magill

And for what?

It's just the kind of bowing, scraping, forelock-tugging boot-kissing flag-waving hooey that only a good revolution could sort out.

Long gone are the days when we had any empire to speak of - these days only Gibraltar and the Channel Islands appear to show any loyalty to the sovereign - and that's only so they can annoy the Spanish/French.

If I was allowed to drive my Ford Escort down pedestrianised shopping streets, push to the front of the queue in ASDA, or ban fat girls from wearing leggings, then I'd sign up for an MBE tomorrow.

But in 21st century life, where the depth of your wallet, rather than the largesse of your soul, is the measuring stick, a nice letter from Liz Windsor and certificate for over the mantlepiece is a bit old hat.

And who would want a poxy MBE anyway?

For perhaps the one and only time in life, I agree with Michael Winner - if you're not going to get a decent piece of tin like a knighthood or a CBE, it's not worth dusting off the tux and polishing your brogues.

Cards on the table - I'm the grandson of a railway worker who would cheerfully have seen the Windsors swinging from the nearest lamppost.

And I'm as likely to get an MBE as seeing Dale Winton turning out as a loose forward for the Lions against the Kiwis this week.

Give me the keys to Buck House though, or the right to pepper chavs with buckshot each weekend, and I'll go down on one knee for anyone.