I’m £10 better off this week. I knew you’d be pleased.

The reason for this sudden embarrassment of riches is because I sent this photograph into the satirical magazine Private Eye and, after emailing me to ask if it was actually a set up, (it wasn’t) it duly appeared on Page 15.

And they sent me a tenner.

I immediately cancelled my subscription of course.

After all, having achieved one of my lifetime ambitions, albeit a very modest one, I felt suddenly aligned to the great comedian Groucho Marx when he declared: “I don’t want to belong to any club that would accept me as one of its members.”

I later showed the printed publication to my wife who had happened to be with me at the time the photograph was taken.

This, I felt, was validation of my consternation and laughter at the time.

When I had originally pointed it out with amused relish she had taken it upon herself to patiently explain that this was a warning for the children who attended the nursery at the community centre. Nuts can be very dangerous these days.

Yes, yes, said I - but look at where it’s positioned! I recognised the look of tired sympathy in her eyes, a look I have seen so many times before, as she told me patiently that it was positioned where all the parents could read it clearly.

You always know, and I mean you absolutely always know, that you’ve lost any chance of a gag when you have to explain why it’s funny.

The more you explain why a gag is funny, the less funny it gets.

When we were married, the very first thing I said to someone after we’ve been declared man and wife and sat down to rejoin our friends was to inquire of my brother-in-law what the legal minimum time allowed was before I could file for divorce. Hilarious eh?

She didn’t think that was very funny either. I’m still trying to explain that one. And it’s still not working.

Everyone agrees with her. Including me. Most of the time.

Well I’ve still got the cheque anyway. I’m not cashing it. I’m just going to stare wistfully at it from time to time.