What on earth was going on with that thick blanket of smog over the whole of Worksop last week?
It wasn’t so much a pea souper of a day as a thick, meaty broth of a day.
I could barely see the end of my pipe as I trotted around town.
The Ryton was so enveloped in a thick fog it looked more like the Yangtze.
I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much. As any regular readers will know, I’ve been hoping the sights of Worksop would be permanently obscured from view for many years.
But I am nothing if not a hypochondriac and I was soon panicking about the health implications of this smoggy blanket.
Would I need to put on one of those white face masks they wear in the Far East?
A terrifying prospect for anyone with a moustache as thick and luxurious as mine.
I’d be scratching away like a nine-year-old with their first bout of knits.
Anyway, the authorities were warning people to stay indoors - and they don’t even do that on the Friday night before Christmas.
Feverishly checking the warnings I discovered that those with lung and heart conditions may find symptoms worsen and even healthy specimens like myself could get a sore throat or a tickly cough.
There were also warnings that everyone should avoid strenuous activity, which was better news for those who enjoy their chaise longues as much as I do.
Then David Cameron waded in blaming the whole thing on Saharan dust and avoiding any blame for it.
Dave even had to cancel his morning jog apparently which made me very sad.
It was all very worrying and I was tempted to head somewhere with better air quality - Middlesbrough perhaps or even New Delhi. Luckily, everything is back to normal now.