I'm used to the odd one or two poorly made, incorrectly spelled banners being erected on the middle of a roundabout to announce that it's Ermintrude's birthday. But this has taken on epidemic proportions now. There are some roundabouts where at times it's almost impossible to see what's coming from the other side because of the plethora of old blankets, bed sheets (some still bearing unmentionable stains) and bits of material, hastily and always badly daubed with some banal message, announcing to the world that Wayne and Waynetta are getting engaged.

Who cares? Not I for a fact.

But today at a roundabout in Biggin Hill as I was passing through, I saw one of these bedsheet broadcasts and I had to go round again to see if my eyes had deceived me.

They hadn't.

This sheet proudly proclaimed to the world and it's wife, congratulations to (him) and (her) on Their Pregnancy What in the name of dear God's socks made someone think that this was a matter for general consumption by people who don't even know who the hell (him) and (her) even are?

This constant publicising of matters once deemed as personal makes me feel that our social etiquette and need for personal space in our emotional attitudes has just melted and run off down the drain.