Another episode from the Don't You Know Who I Am? files.

Thrilled though she was to see Renee Webb get the nod for the Tourism portfolio, your columnist has to report some rather disheartening news from the top of Bermuda's tottering second pillar.

It would appear that, still in celebratory mood following last Tuesday's promotion, our new Minister of Tourism decided to dine out at a popular Front Street Italian eatery the following evening.

But when informed that the exclusive corner table with excellent harbour views had already been reserved for another client - who was due to arrive at any moment - Renee kicked up such a stink it was enough to put other diners off their seafood linguini. The maitre d' was summoned, questions were asked, demands were made.

Thankfully, and against all military tradition, our Italian generalissimo held his ground and refused to capitulate. For once Renee had no option but to stand down.

And after finally being seated, what aperitif did our new tourism chief and her male companion enjoy quaffing before the anti-pasta arrived? What else but a bottle of chilled fizz.

Have the bubbles gone to her head or has Renee, in a sign of gratitude to her own boss, begun aping the champagne-guzzling antics of Madame Premier?

Hester sincerely hopes that it was a one-off gaffe by a member of the Cabinet who normally shows better judgment.

And still with last week's re-shuffle. Amidst all the whys and wherefores of Ms Webb becoming Tourism boss and The Colonel being drafted in to take over as Minister of Housing, there's one appointment that the Island's media seem to have overlooked - with the Colonel suddenly finding his hands full looking after the plight of the Island's homeless, who is prepared to step into his shoes as the official haulier of Madame Premier's handbag?

As yet Hester has been unable put a name to the mystery man standing by the Premier's side but she can reveal that the new man on the job obviously has much to learn on how to make the wheels of government - and the Premier's daily itinerary - run smoothly.

Word reaches Hester that, the day after last Tuesday's reshuffle, Madam Premier addressed the 16th Annual Reinsurance Congress - but only just.

Turning up at the Hamilton Princess Hotel half an hour late, the Premier apologised to her audience of business big-wigs before letting slip that she had in fact been driven all the way to the Southampton Princess.

It was only after entering an empty conference hall that Madame Premier realised that she - or rather her new right-hand man - had gone to the wrong hotel.

Bring back the birch is an oft quoted call by UK educators bemoaning declining standards of discipline in schools. Perhaps it's something Madam Premier might now be thinking.

And what words of wisdom did our leader have to pass on to her eagerly awaiting audience? Well, Madam Premier kicked off by stating that “times have changed” since the 1980s.

Warming to her theme she went on to say that last September's terrorist attacks in the US “were incompressible to understand”, before adding that , to make Bermuda the domicile of choice for businesses, “we will trumpet our assets”.

Never mind a Cabinet reshuffle Madam Premier, your first priority has to be to get a new speech writer.

Although she has no interest in such matters, Hester read with growing fascination an article in yesterday's daily concerning the connection between cycling and impotence in men.

The report even quoted one unfortunate who candidly revealed that he experienced - well, let's just say a lack of feeling in a certain part of his anatomy - after bike rides.

“You're in the middle of a ride and things go numb - it's very uncomfortable,” our sex mad cycling enthusiast whinged.

And the name of the wannabe father? Mr Love. Can't life be so cruel sometimes?

Although certainly not fast herself, Hester has always loved the idea of taking an open top sports car for a spin along South Shore.

So it was not without a pang of jealousy that your columnist heard about some lucky chap who won a brand spanking new MG convertible in a raffle last month.

And what ad leapt off the page of the classifieds section in yesterday's daily? ‘Brand new MG roadster. Convertible. Never driven. Five speed. Alpine CD stereo. British Racing Green. Under warranty. $35,000 ono.'

Some people are just never happy are they?