Honours Forfeiture Committee - never heard of it myself - until yesterday when this expensive looking envelope popped through the old letter box.
Apparently, my name is no longer mentioned in polite circles. I'm shunned by members of the local Darby and Joan Club, and my subscription to the local lawn bowls association has been cancelled. I suspect a letter will arrive shortly from the allotment committee telling me I'm no longer welcomed in the communal allotment shed.
All this is because, I broke the piggy bank.
I wouldn't mind but as I recall I was encouraged to accept the decorations. In recognition of my services to piggy banking. As we were world leaders in that field it was only right that our greatest exponent - me - should be honoured. And at the time I was riding high on the hog. So were we all.
I admit that personally I left a lot to be desired. I strutted around a lot, possibly wasn't the nicest to my work colleagues and maybe thought I was pretty much master of all I surveyed. O.K. quite a few people thought I was a pig. But that was not why I was honoured. I was honoured because when it came to piggy banking I was the top rasher.
Later on it all went a bit pear shaped. But I wasn't the only one with his snout in the trough. Oh no, there were quite a few. All those "high ups" in the Residents Association, and on the PCC. They were coining it in and make no mistake.
Now they all slowly shake their heads and say how wrong it all was and PCC sub Committees are formed here, there and everywhere to consider ways of ring fencing the piggy banks and the church tower funds.
Funny how all the money I raised and donated is untouched by my disgrace. No chance of that being returned that's for sure.
And, of course, the sanctimonious local rag is full of stories of debt and destitution when the piggy banks collapsed - and if it's not directly all my fault - it was as near as damn it. I don't remember them refusing to carry my "Piggy Bank Credit" ads - a nicer earner for them.
Now, I join Tony Front, our local art dealer, Bob Muggles, local black politician, Henry Mussells, the Italian owner of the cafe in the High Street and one or two other ne'er- do- wells who've found themselves stripped of their honour.
Honest, all I did was make a lot of money and lose it. The piggy bank bubble burst and I, along with a few others, copped it.
Why all the fuss?