The latest potential delegate for my conference is John Gronow. Last week Gronow launched walesinabottle.com, a business selling bottles of “fresh Welsh air” to homesick expatriates, and the kind of people who get off on smelling other people’s air. As with most of the businesses represented at “Moran Salutes the Spurious Restart Scheme Timewasters of 2006”, it strikes one as a fairly unlikely future rival to the Microsoft or Glaxo billions. While there may have been endless knowing references made to “designer air” over the years, most of us, like Bill Clinton, have not inhaled. Indeed, the nearest most of us have come to designer air is frantically Febreez-ing the middle-distance of the lounge, attempting to dispel a recent buffet of tinned sardines, Silk Cut and Sour Cream Pringles Dippers. However, for the small worldwide community of provincial-air connoisseurs, walesinabottle offers an intriguing menu. For £24 one can buy what is called, with a prosaic, un-Welsh briskness, a “basic product”. And this “basic product” does, indeed, look pretty basic. It appears to be an empty 500ml Vladivar vodka bottle — possibly in tribute to the many that litter the lay-bys of Newport and Barry — filled with air from a) Snowdon or b) Brecon.

For an unspecified amount more, however, walesinabottle will take on personalised, up-scale, one-off commissions. This conjures images of air sommeliers fighting shepherds in Tregaron for a particular breeze. Personally, I worry just how specific these requests for Welsh air could be. For instance, I have a great many good olfactory memories of breakfast at the Belle Vue Royale Hotel, Aberystwyth, but I don’t know how well the proprietors would feel about someone suddenly arriving at 8.30am, waving an empty vodka bottle around. Likewise, Charlotte Church may come to be vexed by attempts made on her immediate atmosphere — for which collector of Welsh air would not wish to inhale her potent corona of sex, Marlboro, alcopops and thigh?

Of course, as with most services offered to comfort expatriates, walesinabottle covertly underlines how right the “patriots” were to “ex” themselves in the first place. Aside from developing a fatal allergy to rain, there could scarcely be anything more un-Welsh than being prepared to spend £24 on a bottle of air. This is, after all, the country so disapproving of simple, austere authenticity that it invented the Cardiff cappuccino — a cup of instant coffee with squirty cream and hundreds and thousands on top.

And besides, one wonders just how much walesinabottle understands the fundamental appeal of Welsh air in the first place. For whichever aspect of Welsh air you might feel most inclined to blow £24 on — the salty estuaries, the damp pine forests, the mountains with a picnic-bench halfway up them — surely the most appealing facet is that none of it comes in a small, mean bottle? Or, indeed, costs £24.

Spammers - the world's new rich

An intriguing statistic released by the police this week claims that spamming — the sending of unsolicited e-mails from preposterously named spivs offering poorly spelt prescription drugs or hardcore porn — is now worth more to criminal gangs than selling cocaine. How can this be? The spammers’ ordering process is in total disarray. Three weeks ago I replied to “Errant R. Dingy's” offer, saying “Yes yes yes! I would love some ‘ Secsualy explicit’ material, please”, but I haven't heard a thing back. Likewise, “Shattering B. Congressman” has yet to deliver my requested consignment of “generic drugs” which are, reassuringly, “safe for humans!!!”. This despite my explanation that I was desperate for some “Mellooow, soothing downs” since my $10,000 “security deposit” — on a “sure-fire” investment in “diamond shares” in Ghana — had gone missing.

With this poor record of costumer care, I’m close to giving up the convenience of the internet and reverting to John Lewis for all my Xanax, African embezzlement and “dirty girl action!” needs.

Fans of “scenes of a mild sexual nature” must prepare for an attack of nerves. The future of the latest Bond film, Casino Royale, is in grave doubt. A mere 12 weeks away from the start of shooting, the film is being hampered by a few small problems. To wit: there is no script, no one has been cast as Miss Moneypenny and, most worryingly of all, there is no one prepared to play 007. Pierce Brosnan has been “let go ”, Clive Owen has rejected the role, and Ross Kemp is, alas, already signed up with EastEnders.

Of course, it could be that the actors of the world have noticed what Bond’s producers have missed. The role of James Bond in Casino Royale has already been cast — by David Niven! In 1967! Wake up!

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