IN PG Wodehouse's "Stiff upper lip, Jeeves", Bertie is reflecting on his mood one morning and says "I marmaladed a slice of toast with something of a flourish and I don't suppose I have ever come much closer to saying "Tra-la-la" as I did the lathering, for I was feeling in mid-season form this morning".
When I walk through customs, even though I haven't got so much as an extra millilitre of perfume, I still try to compose my face into an innocent expression, like, 'Tra-la-la, I am not a drugs mule!
The second fatal flaw, quite literally, in this bright idea is that in the golden age of schooling when we all skipped tra-la-la to school, the fastest thing on the road was an Austin Montego, which, in the terrible event it should mount the kerb and head straight for you, you had a good hour or two to sidestep it.