We interrupt this column to bring you an urgent appeal from the Guild of Scribblers, Pontificators, Intellectuals and Nit-pickers.

It has recently been brought to our attention that your so-called columnist, a certain “Paddy McGuffin” if that is his name, which we very much doubt, has had the temerity to, not once but on numerous occasions, call into question the honesty, veracity and sober nature of our guild members and their noble tradition.

This must be stamped out with extreme prejudice, as we should have done with Gutenberg, who allowed every reprobate and rabble-rouser access to the printed word.

Well no more!

Indeed it would be written in our charter if someone hadn’t spilled claret over the only copy, which if memory serves was put to the noble cause of ensuring His Majesty the Prince of Wales had a thoroughly cleansed bowel movement.

May we all suffer such heroic ends!

We, who take as our exemplars, not Hazlitt, Cobbett, Voltaire and their scurrilous contemporaries but such modern day luminaries in the field of lying for lucre as Peregrine Worsthorne, Melanie Phillips and the sainted Clarkson, feel we must take a stand against such perfidious, nay defamatory attacks, from a mere comprehensive school guttersnipe.

Cease and desist letters have been in vain as was an abortive attempt to prosecute for libel where the Guild were, unfortunately, called en masse as hostile witnesses for the defence thus leading to an immediate acquittal and awarding of costs to the defendant.

As a result of this unfortunate episode the Guild’s coffers are drastically depleted and, it is our sad duty to report, requests for donations have been met not so much with indifference as derision.

And yet these vulgar attacks persist.

Our members, some of whom have had a seat on our board for 30 years and show no signs of vacating them any time soon, will (literally) not stand for it.

We at the Guild have therefore decided to form a welfare trust fund for our members, who, lacking in any useful form of education cannot earn a crust anywhere but grubb street.

Journalists have little in the way of transferable skills.

The ability to read upside down, find a drink at a Jehovah’s Witness christening and lie on demand, while undoubtedly useful, would only see you through an entrance interview at MI5. And in many cases did.

We have no notion of the concept of paying for our own repasts, or the processes by which one ventures onto public transport.

In fact one of our most eminent members was recently horrified to discover that his taxi to and from his designated luncheon venue plus three course meal and a modest carafe of burgundy cost him £200.

When he attempted, quite reasonably, to offset this on expenses he was told by some oik in the finance department to, and I quote: “Eff off and get a proper job.”

Alas, this type of abuse is all too commonplace in our society and this is why we proudly announce the launch of the Distressed Columnists Malevol...er, Benevolent Fund.

In line with Tory Party policy, from which we seldom if ever depart, we have a sliding scale of rewards for donations.

£500 will get you a seat at our annual slap-up feast at the Groucho Club where you can experience the thrill of sitting cheek by jowl with the great opinion makers of our time.

A more modest donation of £250 will give you the opportunity to attend a Daily Mail editorial meeting where you too can experience the joys of being called a “useless c***” by Paul Dacre.

And for those of you, like many of our illustrious members, with short arms and deep pockets, a mere £50 will give you the opportunity to watch Richard Littlejohn abuse a refugee from the safety of his desk.

All major credit cards, bearer bonds, krugerrands and brown envelopes stuffed with non-sequential notes gratefully accepted.

Remember for every £1,000 we receive you can keep a hack in the lifestyle to which they are accustomed for almost a week.

Please give generously.

As the good book says, man cannot live on foie gras alone.