I HEAR the summer back in glorious Blighty hasn't been exactly sun-packed and carefree. England's showing in South Africa was an embarrassment – rather for the squad's refusal to visit Nelson Mandela's prison cell than for any footballing misgivings.

I've heard about massive and widespread forthcoming public sector cuts while a government MP has just discovered some interesting secrets about his wife's evening activities. I've only been gone for two months and my beloved isle is embroiled in disgrace, anarchy and misery.

At times like these, I should probably not mention that I'm writing this on a balcony overlooking the Caribbean sea, sipping a delightful Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon and being entertained by the incomparable Jeff Buckley as the cool evening breeze delights the nearby palm trees in the fading light.

My fellow citizens of the greatest city on earth, we must not succumb to foul displeasure and simmering despair. I beseech thee, in the name of all that is righteous, divine and good, to cast out these demons and embrace each second of your privileged lives on the streets of Liverpool with lovers' abandon and childlike wonder. My further request is that you embark on your journey of enlightenment with a blinding glass of dancing water served in one of our many fine, Dionysian temples.

The Everyman Bistro is celebrating 40 years of trade this month. Forty years of serving crazily good food, superb liquor – all in a fabulous atmosphere which can best be described in proud Liverpudlian fashion as – boss. Dead boss. I was schooled at the Everyman as a nascent wine-lord, while enjoying the best working conditions a chap could ask for.

So here's the skinny – a restaurant that serves top quality, reason-ably priced food and drink; looks after its staff and is loved by thous-ands is celeb-rating 40 years of business.

That's the way to do it, eh?