Start, I suppose, as you mean to go on.

At 18 weeks old and barely on to solid food, our baby has officially joined the ranks of us (the proles, as indicated by a small letter) by getting her first unintelligible communication from Them (The State, with capital letters).

We are rather proud of her.

Them, in this case, is the DHSS, a shady government organisation which masterminds a vast system of backhanders known as Child Benefit.

Child Benefit works like this: you have a baby and The State gives you £7 a week for the next 16 years. Money for old rope.

Eighteen weeks ago, it struck me as quite iniquitous that mothers and babies should cop for this largesse. What about a few quid for me and the cat, eh?

I was going to expose this monstrous anomaly, this wild abuse of the public purse. Could there be, I wondered, a case for the Equal Opportunities Commission? Or, for that matter, the Cats Protection League?

Someone might also look into the curious fact that my wife, when pregnant, got £29-a-week maternity allowance simply to lounge around the house eating pilchard-and-toothpaste sandwiches while I continued to be mugged by the taxman on the first of each month as per normal.

Anyway, to return to Child Benefit. We have not had any yet.

Monstrous and illogical Child Benefit may be but if the trough is there, we Rhodeses know our rights and would very much like our snouts in it, please.

Yet for the past 18 weeks we have been waiting in vain for the magic book. The one with pull-out pages that you turn into money at the Post Office.

The DHSS acknowledged receipt of our application and returned the baby's birth certificate some time ago but since then, nothing. And the amount owing has steadily increased.

It now stands at £126 and my original view of Child Benefit has mellowed somewhat.

While seven quid a week is plainly a cheap attempt by The State to placate us proles, a lump sum of £126 is quite a different matter.

It is enough to tax my car, fix the garage door and purchase several pints of beer plus a new shirt or two.

Ironically, just as I have become a great fan of Child Benefit, The State minions at Newcastle-upon-Tyne have done something very odd.

They have sent us a note saying They have received the baby's Child Benefit book and why have we sent it to Them?

Hmmmm...

I accept that as unintelligible letters from Them go, this is fairly small beer.

It pales, for instance, beside the Passport Renewal Form A Misc 314 (which I suspect was designed by the people who run Hampton Court Maze) or the mind-boggling convolutions of booklet NI212 Jan 80 on Invalid Care Allowance.

But it is not a bad start, not for a kiddie of 18 weeks. What next?

I dunno. I am reluctant to dust off the typewriter and compose something sensible when They always respond with something meaningless.

So if nothing happens soon, I will get the infant in question to dictate a letter.

Dear Sir or Madam, Gobblydeobblydegurgledygook.

Rule for life: Speak as you are spoken unto.