A RISE in mumps cases throughout the Worcester area has approached epidemic proportions.

In factories and offices, people have been going down like flies. One poor lad from the Evening News sports desk returned to work this week after a nasty bout of the bulges, and was then obliged to run the gauntlet of the hacks' gags.

Take a tip, boys. Hang on to the day jobs. At all costs.

However, there is another outbreak that we should all be concerned about and that is of a highly contagious virus called hyperbole.

It spreads quickly, sometimes leading to not so much an epidemic, more a pandemic.

And politicians are particularly vulnerable.

Worcester MP Mike Foster fell victim this week, poor chap. In fact, he rapidly became delirious, thrashing about in a cold sweat and muttering about something called MMR.

Apparently, this is a miracle cure for everything under the sun. New Labour people sing its praises, although Tony Blair has, in the past, been a little bashful when pressed on the matter.

Mr Foster, swivel-eyed and pouring with sweat, screamed that mumps was getting out of hand, and accused those opposed to MMR jabs of "scaring people away".

These misguided fools could cause the end of the world as we know it, he gurgled.

Hey, Mike. Just take it easy - I used to be a doctor. Please understand that when responsible parents make a value judgement about the vaccination of their children, it is invariably done with a heavy heart.

Today, it is feared the vaccine has a link with autism. But a few years ago, when we had to make a decision for our children, the concern was that the vaccine could cause brain damage.

Of course, then followed the inevitable whooping cough epidemic, and a reprimand from a medic when we all spluttered our way to the surgery.

However, our decision - right or wrong - was taken after much agonising. Bear that in mind, please.

Newsflash: A health spokesman said that Mr Foster's condition was satisfactory, adding: "Hyperbole can be serious, but the patient should make a full recovery as long as he keeps taking the tablets.

Say sorry for 1066

THE King of Spain has been asked by the Moroccan government to apologise for his predecessors' expulsion of the Moors in the 15th Century.

Quite right, too. I can understand how the hurt must linger. There you are, minding your own business, innocently subjugating a country... and then the original inhabitants have the brass cheek to chuck you out.

It could catch on. Right - everyone of Norman descent must say sorry to the Anglo-Saxons for that beastly business back in 1066.

Come to think of it, I had a namesake who was burned at the stake by Bloody Mary in 1555. That's not very friendly, so I'd appreciate it if all you Catholics now apologise to us Protestants.

Oi, Tudor - are you sorry or just pretending?

National guilt is rapidly getting out of hand. What's done is done. Let's leave the past to the history books and draw a line under outrages real... and imagined.

Who will pay for 24-hour drink bill?

THE Government is doing some fancy footwork over its insane 24-hour drinking Bill.

My bet is that the taxpayer will ultimately pick up the tab for extra policing and clearing up the mess - and not the pubs.

As it happens, Worcester publicans are lukewarm on the new licensing law.

That's good. It's their clientele that turns Worcester into a rubbish dump every weekend.

A short-sighted stranger could easily find his way to St John's on a dark Monday morning just by following the trail of rats, plastic cartons, bottles and other deposits too revolting to mention.

Never mind mumps. Binge drinking is the national disease. Maybe the politicians could come up with a jab to cure it.

What about something called MMR... Make Morons Repent.

Evenin' all.