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It's all Dutch to Morris as he tries to persuade the people of Gorinchem to move to Shropshire. He gives a great speech in the main square and many people are moved.. in fact they're so moved that they disperse like as many autumn leaves leaving a leafy pile of leaves.

So today I bought a new pair of boots, very smart, very shiny, purposeful boots, the sort of boots you might conquer the Wrekin with. I also had a haircut.

I tried to chat to the barber but he just kept agreeing with me every time I asked him a question. It was very irritating.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Yes"

"If you moved is there anywhere in particular you would like to move to?"

"Yes, yes"

"How much is a haircut here?"

"Mmmm, Yes."

"Do you speak English?"

"Yes"

"You donÂ’t do you?"

"Yes, sir"

ThereÂ’s not really much here in Gorinchem to make people want to stay, I feel sure that once I get chance to speak to them they will understand how much better off they will be in Shropshire. IÂ’ve found someone who is prepared to translate a speech for me and IÂ’m planning to speak to the people tomorrow.

"Good Afternoon good people. Thank you for coming. My name is Morris Telford, I come to you from the Shropshire village of Moreton Say and I am here to change your life for the better.

There are essentially three types of people in this world. People who are born in Shropshire, people who move to Shropshire and, sadly the largest group, people who never see Shropshire.

DonÂ’t worry. IÂ’m here to balance the scales.

IÂ’ve been travelling all over the world as an emissary for the sacred pleasures of Shropshire life, a herald of the unspoken beauty that fills EnglandÂ’s finest county, a solid platinum bell ringing in a new era of Salopian understanding and peace, a lightning flash of sudden revelations in the dark night of ignorance, an ethereal guiding hand to push you towards Shropshire and all it holds for you, a signpost of reason at the crossroads of confusion, an explosion of common sense in a firework factory of misguided acts. I am your magical master butcher in the meat market of inferior, diseased animal parts, your buy one get one free special offer of a lifetime in the freezer aisle of the global supermarket, your heavy duty stapler of truth in the stationary cupboard of deceit, your giant squid of retribution in the stormy sea of guilt, your only Cuban cigar in the last chance box of smoking opportunity, your own personal representative in the tumultuous, disorientating whirlwind of package lifestyles and your last, best hope for escaping the hideous life you now lead and embarking on a superlative voyage of destiny to the very heart of the golden county, Shropshire."

IÂ’m fed up.

Not one person came up to me after my speech yesterday, and I was a bit nervous giving it too. I can count the times IÂ’ve been nervous on one hand. There was that time I tried to climb the church at Moreton Say after a school friend told me Clive of India lived on the roof. There was the time I stood up at the annual general meeting of the parish council and complained about the inferior standard of the Bingo markers they use at the weekly game, specifically the low tone ink. Then there was the time I accidentally stapled my hand to the desk during an important meeting with Mr Magson, and lastly I remember was the time I got home late from work on Tuesday 8th January 2002 and nearly met my next-door neighbour Sophia in the flesh. Those and the speech yesterday are about it, and I got all nervous yesterday for nothing, no one responded.

I sent Mother a lingua-phone "Learn Dutch" tape and book in the post so she can prepare a few helpful phrases for the 104,392 Dutch people who now have her phone number.

I donÂ’t know much about Germany, but I notice Melvin Bone suggests I give it a go. Melvin also says-
"Here is a quote from Country Life "Anyone who knows Devon could have guessed it would do well in this contest. Even so, no one could possibly have predicted the county would rub its rivals' faces so deeply in the mud."

Shropshire scored a poor 2 out of 10 for tranquillity, but did better elsewhere scoring 10 out of 10 for burglariesÂ…Â…Â…Â….. Morris, your mission will succeed if you transfer your allegiance to Devon. I'll endeavour to send you some scrumpy and fudge to get you started."

Either Melvin works for the evil Country Life or has been through some sort of sophisticated brain tampering process to say such terrible things.

I would like to respond to a couple of the more hurtful things Mel said.

Tranquillity was invented in Shropshire. Archaeological evidence that I have seen with my own eyes in the Market Drayton secret museum clearly shows that while the people of Devon were still trying to walk upright and build rudimentary dwellings, the people of Shropshire were developing an eco-friendly, peace loving society, pushing the boundaries of tranquillity by sitting in their gardens with a good book and a nice cup of tea.

Scrumpy and Fudge? Obviously it would take much more than apple juice and inferior confectionary to turn anyone from the Shropshire delights of gingerbread and the 130 percent Moreton Say rum that the vicar distills.

As for burglaries, the last reported burglary in Moreton Say was in 1898 when Terrence Threefold broke into Mrs Constance RhetoricÂ’s barn and tried to make off with a spade, a leather water pouch and a sack of flour. He was caught and hanged before he had chance to dig, drink or make a cake.

Where was Mr Threefold from?

Devon.