WET, wet, wet. No, not the group, but the weather.

Hasn’t it been awful and cold into the bargain, so I got out my old fur jacket.

It seems the arbiters of taste say to wear fur after May and before October is not the done thing, but as it’s just October, I can go ahead.

I bet the anti-fur brigade will be jumping up and down, but as the fur is already here on the coat, which was made long before the anti-fur thing started, I’m thinking t’will be okay.

We must be careful with this sort of political correctness, as I am told that stopping the fur trade put entire communities, who depended on it, on the bread line.

Trappers were left with no income, not work and no pride and ended up hanging around drinking hooch, which created yet another problem.

When in India, I went to a factory where young girls were working.

We Europeans tut-tutted, saying ‘How awful, exploiting youngsters that way.’ But the factory manager explained that the girls were feeding families, asking ‘Would you have their families starve?’ The situation isn’t that simple.

For there, in that place, it was a case of, ‘If you don’t work, you don’t eat’ — and it’s not all that long ago that we had child labour.