On the way home from the station today I noticed a large poster proudly announcing that Barry Norman has just launched his own range of pickled onions, called (rather provocatively I thought) Barry Norman Pickled Onions.

Finally! How many times during an idle moment has my mind has returned to the perennial question: "When, when, when will that late twentieth century broadcasting giant Barry Norman release his own brand of speciality pickles?"

In fact, since he bowed off our screens at the end of Film 98, I've often thought to myself: "What are you up to now that you're not reviewing films Barry Norman? I know you did a stint on BSkyB after handing Film 99 over to Jonathan Ross, but since 2002 you've been awfully quiet. I do hope you're spending all that extra time developing and perfecting the recipe for some kind of pickled snack."

It's certainly comforting to learn that this is exactly what he was doing, but although five years of solid pickle-related R&D may well have resulted in a superior product, it does mean he's a rather late entry to the film reviewer-endorsed pickled snack market.

After all The Observer's Philip French has had his Philip French's Pickled Gherkins on the shelves since 2003 and Mark Kermode's piccalilli, The Piccalilli of Mark Kermode, has been a supermarket best-seller for the last three years.

One can't help but wonder if the lucrative market that exists at the delicate intersection of film reviewing and vegetable preservation is already too crowded. Interestingly, the newest kid on the pickling block, Jason Solomons, had a complete flop with his Jason Solomon's Kickass Spicy Beet Box — pickled beetroot packaged rather controversially in a cardboard Tetrapak rather than the traditional glass jar.

Only time will tell if Barry's onions are a success but I do hope he's already back in the kitchen, working on another vinegary innovation. Because there's an old saying in the industry: if your pickles aren't moving forwards, they're moving backwards.

It seems that no amount of vinegar can slow the march of progress...

At the start of the second working week with Boris as mayor, I thought it would be interesting to take a look at his first week in office having successfully ousted the incumbent from London's top role.

Despite a rather magnanimous acceptance speech late on Friday, Boris got down to business on Monday morning by announcing that his first action in office would be to have Ken Livingstone burned in huge wicker pigeon being constructed in Trafalgar Square.

In a press statement he said "the immolation of my esteemed predecessor will not only demonstrate to the people of London that I am a man of action, but will also provide a world-class spectacle and a hugely enjoyable evening out for the family".

Following his election commitment to implement serious strategies on knife and gun crimes Boris announced that areas of London would be set aside for gang-related violence without police interference.

He explained "Currently London has insufficient open space where young people can let off steam by shooting and stabbing each other. By providing designated areas, very much in the spirit the very successful initiative to reduce grafitti, we hope to save police time and reduce the number of incidents of normal people caught up in gang-related killings."

Delivering on his pledge to make transport safer, Boris issued bus drivers on high-crime routes with MAC-10 automatic pistols, saying "Antisocial behaviour on our buses is making life a misery for law-abiding Londoners. I think arming drivers will make people think twice about making a nuisance of themselves and the small size of the MAC-10 makes it ideal for use inside the limited space of a driver's cab."

Following criticism that the drivers have been issued weapons without the proper training Boris said: "Nonsense. The MAC-10 is a fully-automatic, point-and-shoot firearm — a child could use one. It's 100% effective even in the hands of a complete novice. In fact, if anything, you'd need training in how to not kill someone with it."

For the last few months it has been very difficult to close the door to my flat without giving it an almighty slam, or indeed to open it from the inside without a hefty barge of the shoulder. I'm not exactly sure of the cause, but something has been done in the name of the basement conversion happening in the flat below that has twisted the door frame slightly and means that the door no longer really fits the hole allocated to it.

Opening the door from the outside is even more of a challenge, because one has to put the key in the Yale lock, turn it, and then execute a very specific pulling manoeuvre which requires just the right combination of force and consistency. Too gentle or too jerky and the door sticks halfway open; too hard and you risk snapping the key off in the lock.

I've mentioned this to The Baron a number of times, but despite multiple promises to resolve the matter, for many weeks my entrances have resembled a scene from Ocean's 11 and my exits like something out of an old episode of The Sweeney.

However, this afternoon The Baron arrived with a rather scared looking carpenter introduced to me as 'Josef'.

"Hello Josef" I said.

"Don't bother," said The Baron, "he doesn't speak English".

(Okay, so he doesn't understand a two-word sentence, half of which is his own name, the other half of which is the most basic greeting in the country in which he finds himself...?)

Various gestures were made towards the door and within seconds Josef's power tools were out. The Baron assured me the job would be finished within the hour and it looked like the carpenter had been told (or at least thought) he'd never see his wife and kids again if the job took any longer than that.

I left them to it and within 45 minutes I was being called down to inspect the handiwork. Now, to Josef's credit, the door did now close with great ease. However, the price for this improvement was a new gap underneath the door big enough for a small burglar to crawl under. Not that such a burglar would have to resort to crawling because the gap between the side of the door and the frame was now big enough to make the lock mechanism vulnerable to the most primitive of tools — a coat-hanger would definitely be overkill.

I explained to The Baron that while the jamming door was certainly annoying, it did at least still function as a door from a security perspective. Following the efforts of the terrified Josef, important aspects of its very doorness had now been eroded. Granted, it still operated from an aesthetic perspective perfectly happily as a door, but from the perspective of a barrier to unwanted visitors it left quite a lot to be desired.

The Baron reluctantly agreed but said that it would have to be fixed another time because Josef had to leave for another job. That job presumably being the task of digging up his wife and young family before their oxygen ran out.

After they left, I stood in the hallway, closed the flat door and took a few steps back to assess just how obvious the two new gaps were from a distance. It turns out they were really rather obvious.

Just as I'd resigned myself to a door that now only offered protection from burglary as long as the burglars were overweight and had no tools to hand, a sudden draught came under the front door and my flat door popped open of its own accord.

Okay, so I'm safe from chubby, tool-deficient burglars as long as they are also very impatient...

I wandered past Clapham Junction today to find blonde bombshell Boris Johnson doing some last minute campaigning outside the station. He was on boisterous form and was trying to swing undecided voters by offering short piggy back rides (just to Woolworths and back) in exchange for a vote for him as London Mayor.

Most of the takers seemed pleased with their ride and Boris's stamina was certainly impressive but a couple of times he got caught out by people more interested in a Boris rodeo — they would promise their vote, jump on his back, and then openly admit they were actually staunch Ken supporters and see how long they could stay on.

No-one managed to last more than 30 seconds and at one point things looked like they could get rather nasty when one young man was thrown clean off and into the flower stall and Conservative party supporters were forced to distract a wild-eyed Boris by striking him with rolled up copies of the London Paper to stop him goring his would-be jockey.

Boris seemed to calm down after a stern talk and a Frappucino in Costa Coffee with his campaign manager and, sensing the fun was over, I left them all to it.