There is no doubt about what was our biggest news this week.

There is no doubt about what was our biggest news this week.

It maybe wasn't big news in the sense that it was on News at Ten or that civilisation was changed by it. But the birth of a 10th grandchild was certainly a memorable milestone for the Breadwinner and the Farmer.

He weighed eight pounds, 11 ounces at birth, which made the Breadwinner shudder when she remembered her own first baby, which was two pounds lighter. The Wasting Asset is pleased at having a second boy qualified to play for Scotland and his new wife is pleased to have a little boy of her own to fill some of the hole left by her father who died, suddenly and far too young, two years ago.

He's called Alistair after his other grandfather and Lewis, like Lewis Grassick Gibbon, an appropriate literary name as his father, grandfather and great-grandfather have all made contributions to the literature of the north-east.

But, oh how things have changed since the Bread- winner was producing our four. For a start, husbands were allowed to visit during the one visiting hour a day, whereas the Wasting Asset has been in loyal attendance most of the time except when he went home to sleep and check on things at the pub they run.

That old way was to do with keeping order in the hospital and keeping disease at bay.

And that was why our other children never got to visit their mother at all during her confinements.

When the Wasting Asset him- self was born, I took his elder brother and sister to see that they had a new baby coming home and that their mother had not died. But the children had absolutely no chance of getting in to see her. She came to the window of the ward and held the baby out (Michael Jackson fashion) so that the one and three- year-olds could see him. How much they could make out from the third-floor window, I don't know but I could clearly see the little red face among the swaddling.

But now there is no such restriction. This little Dividend was visited by his uncle and three of his cousins on his second day and they all got a holdie of him. There didn't seem to be anybody fussing about whether visitors had colds or whether they had washed their hands.

That should please me. I have been on for years about how much healthier we were in the great days when we only washed on Sundays and toffs washed at bedtime.

Otherwise, I see that another government minister is in trouble for calling the imminent arrival of "the first green shoots of recovery" of the British economy. I can report that the bankers, those all-knowing all-wise doyens of finance and economy, are seeing some green shoots. I heard a man on the wireless on Wednesday saying he had seen the recovery start with the arrival of the first unsolicited offer from a bank of a free credit card.

When the bankers were conquering the universe, he used to get several such offers per day and he reckons it is a sure sign that things are starting to get better that the first free credit offer since the crunch has arrived. And the Retirement Housie has taken delivery of another harbinger of spring. The bank that Fred Goodwin steered on to the rocks is offering the Farmer a range of financial services. There is something called Expert Managed Solutions. Goodness knows what that will be, but I hope they're not using the same logic as that they employed in offering to sell me more shares in RBS for 32p a share, when you can buy as many as you want in the market for 24p.

The most frightening thing about this flyer from the Bank that Broke the Retirement Fundie is the offer of the services of a Financial Planning Manager. The only RBS Financial Planning Manager I want to see is the one who advised Fred Goodwin on how to get away with a £17m pension pot from the com- pany he had reduced to the point where nationalisation was its only hope of survival.

And finally, a seasonal tale which is said to be true.

On April the first in 1953, Francie Thomson, one of the Tarves drouths, went into the Aberdeen Arms to "have his morning". Belle, the barmaid, said: "Oh Francie, there was a stranger wi' a broon coat in lookin for you, nae minutes ago." So Francie took the bait, knocked back his whisky and went and raked the village to find the man with the broon coat. No-one had seen the man with the broon coat.

Eventually a friend who saw that Francie was in trouble said: "Aye, aye Francie - but dinna forget it's the first o' Aprile."

That evening Francie went into the pub "for his evening" but instead of his usual one, he had three glasses of whisky. As he was setting off, Belle cried: "Francie, you hinna paid for your three gless."

"Oh that's aa' right Belle. The man wi' the broon coat'll be in tae pay it directly."