Sometimes I look at my darling partner and think: why have you never bought me a Fortnum & Mason musical advent calendar? Where are my £2,600 crystal Lalique Feuilles salt and pepper grinders with their Peugeot mechanism and engraved leaf pattern? Is a three-grand Husqvarna robotic lawnmower totally out of the question? And if you really loved me you’d buy me some luxury leather goodies from Frank Smythson, maybe a £2,495 jewellery box for all the emeralds I don’t have, plus two £500 tote bags – one navy, one burgundy – to carry home all the loot; the fountain pens, the silver wine coasters, the wristwatches, the necklaces, the tea sets and the books that you absolutely refuse to lavish on me. You say we have to live within our means, baby. So boring! For it doesn’t seem to apply to everyone out there.

We both had a bitter laugh at Peter Murrell and Nicola Sturgeon, not to mention the glittering tornado of luxury goods that whirled into their new-build redbrick in Uddingston and elsewhere. Yet this is not a comedy, it is an utter tragedy for Scotland. Not just because SNP members donated their hard-earned money to the party coffers in the honest belief that it would help fund their nationalistic dreams and further the cause of independence. It was not – absolutely not – meant to be used to fund the Sturgeons’ lifestyle with expensive domestic knickknackery such as coffee makers and £110 pencil sharpeners, for God’s sake. I may not agree with their political views but what poor mugs these voters have been taken for, and I don’t mean the Le Creuset ones that Murrell bought by the dozen.

What is even more tragic is that despite all this, so many still believe in the higher SNP dream and remain keen to overlook evidence of this persistent, high-level corruption within their own party; while believing with all their hearts – stop it! – that Peter was just a misunderstood misfit who lost his way. Really, Tinkerbell and the Tooth Fairy have more credibility than this tragic chancer.

Murrell has conveniently pleaded guilty to all charges and is going to jail for an alarmingly brief time, but all that matters to those headbanger hardliner SNP cult members is the cause, the cause and the cause, just because. ‘This has got nothing to do with the principles of the party,’ chirped one SNP supporter outside Holyrood this week. I mean, really? Are you kidding? The embezzlement of nearly half a million pounds over a 12-year period suggests to me a culture that permitted executive-level secrecy, entitlement and criminal connivance, at the very least. Current SNP leader John Swinney blustered that there is no need for a public inquiry, but who is he kidding? The whole episode smacks of unethical practice and unchecked sleaze within the SNP hierarchy. Murrell was buying everything from a motorhome vehicle to a Slouch Pouch onesie to tubes of hand cream on the company dime – and I sincerely hope these three items are not related. May I pause to mention my favourite purchase paid for by Scottish voters? Six bottles of Avon Skin So Soft. As every Scot like me knows, it is the best and only antidote for fighting off midges in the summer season on the West Coast. Why couldn’t Murrell pay for this small convenience himself? It’s only six quid a bottle. Let’s move on.

My big question is how this plague of big and small pilfering was allowed to happen in the first place? Where were the in-house standards, the balances and checks, the governance? In any company or business, it usually takes two people to sign off any payment – or to get the invoice on to the company books in the first place, which is much more difficult. When Peter Murrell was knee-deep in video games and Jo Malone perfumes and designer umbrellas and fancy corkscrews, where was the treasurer, the accountant, the auditor? Doesn’t John Swinney want to get to the bottom of all this, doesn’t he want to do right by those well-meaning SNP members who have been so abused?

Consider that in May 2021, SNP treasurer Douglas Chapman resigned because he was unable to properly scrutinise the books after a panicked Murrell had mysteriously paid £100,000 back into the party funds. Chapman is the only person in this torrid imbroglio who emerges with a scrap of dignity, someone who perhaps tried to do the right thing in a quagmire of corruption. A few months later, a furious Nicola Sturgeon ordered senior SNP figures to stop asking questions about the party’s finances, specifically the missing £600,000 which had been raised through crowdfunders for a second IndyRef. ‘The finances are absolutely fine,’ she tartly told them, arguing that their misgivings were ‘undermining’ the party. Sometimes she makes Putin look like Pooh Bear. Does she really think she can walk away from all this, claiming ignorance and virtue intacta? Obviously so.

Surely all this should be more than enough for Swinney to push for transparency and fairness, but because it might be damaging to the SNP, he won’t. He just wants to keep the dream alive, at all costs – and this is the essence of Scotland’s tragedy.

Since he was arrested, there have been so many theories about Murrell’s behaviour. Some think he must have been in some sort of mental disarray. The poor man has problems, is one excuse. There are more elaborate theories, too. Whatever the truth of the matter, the bald facts remain. Peter Murrell was a nilionaire social climber who used SNP money to furnish himself and his lovely wife with the lifestyle he thought they deserved. And the things he bought with those embezzled funds were so pathetic, showing such a lack of imagination, that I want to cry. His was a vulgarian’s view of how posh people lived. His haul looked like the result of a supermarket sweep around the Harrods gift suite in a Dubai five-star hotel. What did Nicola think about her gauche magpie of a husband as she sipped her morning coffee from a baffling variety of new and expensive machines and wondered why that motorhome was parked on her mother-in-law’s driveway? According to her, she thought nothing at all.

It's tennis Naomi, not the catwalk

Tennis player Naomi Osaka has certainly divided opinion with her flamboyant on-court outfits and extravagant jewellery.

‘It’s what boring tennis needs,’ cry some fashionistas. ‘It traduces the sport of tennis,’ say others.

In the opening rounds of the French Open this week, Osaka wore a sequined ‌waistcoat blouse and black mesh train over a layered yellow-brown and gold match dress. Completely ridiculous. Despite the Big Bird vibes, she later arrived for another match in a white ​floor-length train over her outfit.

Look, Naomi. It’s a tennis court: it’s not a catwalk. It’s a sporting event, not a shop-my-page cashfest.

You should be thinking about your game, not maxxing your clicks and your online sales and your marketability.

Who do you think you are? Meghan Markle?

Perry's the real culprit

The terrible, awful Matthew Perry death-drug saga drags on and on and on.

This week, his former personal assistant Kenneth Iwamasa was jailed for more than three years and was blasted by Perry’s parents, who still refuse to believe that their son played a part in his own downfall. This follows a two-year sentence for Erik Fleming, who bought the drug from a dealer know as the Ketamine Queen and supplied it to Perry.

The whole episode is a tragedy. However, the family need to hold their son accountable for his actions and stop blaming his staff.

Matthew surrounded himself with yes-men who would do his bidding. His grieving mother is busy blaming everyone but the real culprit – her son.

Let’s not forget that he published a self-help book about drug recovery, while he was still into drugs himself.

He lied to his parents, he lied to his friends, who is not to say he lied to his staff, too?

Perhaps these people are being unfairly punished and blamed for a rich man’s weakness and subterfuge.

Single-minded Taylor's right over plus-ones at wedding

Taylor Swift has said no plus-ones at her wedding to Travis Kelce this summer and I am here for her. Good for Taylor! Totally fair enough.

You’ve got your dearly beloveds on the guest list, you’ve got your fam and friends, plus all their spouses.

Why accommodate the stranger danger of random plus-ones who might be as transient as a dandelion blowing on the wind of their lives?

Gawking at you on your big day, not to mention hoovering up the snacks, the smoked salmon terrine and all the free drinks.

As someone going solo to a wedding this weekend, I celebrate Taylor’s directive as an entirely positive thing.

You’ve got no one else to worry about, for a start. You don’t need arm candy.

It’s not about having a good time, it’s all about being a good guest.

And if you’re young, attractive and single – I’m not, but so what? – a wedding is a wonderful place to meet someone new.

Love is in the air, kids. Make the most of your solo trip!

We're all suffering heat rage 

Why do Brits behave so badly in the sunshine? Why can’t we keep control and behave like civilised people when the temperature edges upwards?

I have been loving these balmy mornings and evenings, but also despairing of my fellow citizens who behave like hooligans in the good weather.

Across the land there has been widespread beering it up, fights in the sun, idiots splashing about in the wildlife pond at Hampstead Heath and elsewhere, frightening the ducks and swans and nesting wildfowl.

Elsewhere infrastructure seems unable to cope, with trains breaking down, rollercoasters at Thorpe Park gliding to a halt and lidos in the south-east having to close because of bad behaviour by customers.

Let’s be honest. We are all desperate for this heatwave to end. Because we can’t cope physically or emotionally or practically. Bring on the rain. Then we know where we are.

Aha! That's Alan Partridge in jail

What did CECOT, the world’s most terrifying prison, do to deserve a visit from preposterous Richard Madeley?

In his risible documentary for Channel 5, Richard was filmed ‘investigating’ conditions inside El Salvador’s notorious mega-jail.

Tucking in to beans and rice with some of the most dangerous men on the planet, Richard chirped that his meal was ‘perfectly edible’ and went on to behave like he was the most important person there: the Alan Partridge of the South American justice system. One can understand why, after a lifetime of being banged up with Judy, he thought that circumstances weren’t so bad. In the end the old fool got thrown out for asking what he thought were feisty questions.

What a pity he didn’t get thrown in, instead.