I asked about Jilly at The Three Jolly Bonkers

Jilly Cooper says she names characters in her novels after towns and villages. So, for example, polo-playing Basil Baddingham is called that after Baddingham, a place in Suffolk. By an extraordinary coincidence, I spent a couple of days in the Cotswolds last week and came across the picturesque, out-of-theway hamlet of Jillycooper.

Oddly, nobody I met seemed to have heard of the author. An old boy in the local pub, The Three Jolly Bonkers, wasn’t sure, but he thought there was a woman of that name doing the local weather on TV. Everyone said

I should go to see the local historian, Dr Libido, who lived in The Old Massage Parlour, a charming old cottage on Lust Lane.

“The village gets its name me from the Norman baron, Gylles de Cuperon, who came over with William the Conqueror and built himself a weekend cottage in the area,” Dr Libido explained. In fact it’s a very prim and proper community these days. It was different in the 18th century, but then a vicar, shocked by all the depravity, laid down strict rules. The streets were named after the seven deadly sins to remind parishioners of the torments of hell, and that’s how Lust Lane came about.

I strolled past the honeycoloured cottages and looked at the parish noticeboard. The football team, the Jillycooper Wanderers, will be playing away all next season, it said. And next Thursday there will be a talk to the WI entitled “Beware of the Double Entendre,” by Mrs Marjorie Fyne-Thize.

It seems that the namen of the pub, The Three Jolly Bonkers, refers to the ancient May Day tradition of bonking in the woods. Everyone goes to the woods on the outskirts of the village to bonk – that is, to hit the trunks of the trees with socks filled with earth to ensure that there is a good harvest. “There’s no hanky panky in this village,” the old boy in the pub assured me. “It’s different over in Cartland, down the road, and in Upper Heyer, too. Them places is like Sodom and Gomorrah.”

From now on, whenever I travel by plane, I’m going to adopt the brace position throughout the flight. This is not out of fear for my safety, but simply to be respectful, in case the pilot is a member of royalty.

It has just been revealed that the Dutch king, Willem-Alexander, regularly pilots commercial flights in secret and finds it a good way to relax from the pressures of reigning. I can understand exactly how taking the controls of a Boeing would help a king unwind. In fact, at this very moment, the sky must be full of monarchs, crown princes, archduchesses and even emperors piloting planes and enjoying that carefree feeling.

It’s obvious, when you think about it, that our own Royal family must be at is as well. I am sure the Queen has clocked up many flying hours, but now, at her advanced age, confines herself to short hops. Clearly, Princes Harry and William often slip into pilot uniforms and discreetly head for Gatwick. Personally, I rather hope that the Countess of Wessex will be at the controls on the next flight I take. She would surely soothe us all through any patch of turbulence. Stag parties heading for Prague might control their rowdiness if they realised that the Princess Royal was up at the front flying the aircraft.

I wonder if it is possible to tell if your pilot is royal? Maybe, when landing, you can sense that the touchdown is just that little bit more gracious.

We have been hearing a lot about flexitarians lately. These are simply part-time vegetarians, but if flexitarianism is not your sort of thing, here are a few other categories you may like to consider joining.

You only eat what is recommended by Gwyneth Paltrow.

Your diet consists entirely of shared platters in pubs.

Not to be confused with Platterites, these go to restaurants and spend the whole meal giving each other titbits from their plates. “I’ll try some of your sea bass if you will just taste my delicious lamb casserole,” they say.

You are prepared to eat chips, but make it a strict rule not to touch frites.

Fanatics who insist that everything they eat must come from within a three-kilometre radius of where they are at that exact moment. (They also tend to be very metric.)

You exist on takeaways, but, to protect the planet, you demand that they are delivered by bicycle.

On principle, everything you eat must be photogenic. And colour-coordinated, of course.