This week I was asked to write a chapter for a book about journalism, and I jokily emailed to say my fee would be &pound;10,000. The commissioning editor wrote back to say that was a relief; the publishers had feared I might demand &pound;10,000 per word.But I suspect something like that must have happened when Jonathan Ross's agent contacted the BBC. "Tell you, what, Jonno, we'll have a laugh, we'll ask for six mill a year, and settle for what? &pound;500k? Twice what you're worth, mate, but no harm in trying, right?" Then the word comes back from Broadcasting House: "Yes, of course, six million is eminently reasonable. We'll send the contract over ..." Mr Ross's salary has now become the great symbol of BBC profligacy and financial incontinence, and there was much talk of it at the bash to celebrate 50 years of the Today programme this week. John Humphrys said in his speech he was sorry Jonathan Ross couldn't be with us: "He's at Buckingham Palace giving the king of Saudi Arabia advice about what to do with his money." It's the kind of thing that creates a boiling and roiling resentment in every other person who works for the BBC, especially in radio, where the fees are famously limp.The fact is that the BBC has such range, such clout, and so many outlets that it can create its own stars. It doesn't need to pay vast sums to bring in established people from outside (Graham Norton) and it doesn't need to beggar itself by holding on to those who are offered ridiculous sums elsewhere. You only need to look at Hancock and Morecambe and Wise to see what can happen to those who follow the cash.<b></b> There was much talk of great Today programme fiascos, such as the time Jack de Manio couldn't conduct an interview because he was locked in the toilet. Or the occasion at the start of the Iraq war when Tony Benn appeared to pronounce anathemas on all concerned. But instead of him, they accidentally played a tape of Mongolian throat music. "So, Mr Benn, what's your view?" "Wurghhh, urggh ..." I'd have enjoyed that. Ming Campbell was there looking happy and relaxed. We got on to the subject of lawyers who are also politicians, and he told a story about the late John Smith. He'd been defending a man accused of attempted murder with a knife. The fellow was convicted, so Smith paid the customary visit to the cells to commiserate and apologise. "Not to worry, Mr Smith," he said cheerfully, "you were so good I was believing you myself!"<b></b> It is my habit, when I pass near the ancient wine merchants of Berry Bros and Rudd in St James, London, to pop in and gaze at their fine wine room. Last time I looked the second most expensive wine on sale was a Chateau Petrus 1990 at &pound;3,600 - per bottle. The priciest of the lot was the 1990 Chateau Le Pin, which now retails at &pound;3,800. The grapes are not trodden by horny-footed peasants.People sometimes ask if it's worth it, and the answer is obviously no, except to folk who use such wine to demonstrate their enormous wealth. Absurd to imagine that it is a hundred times better than a fine claret from a less famous name, or even a thousand times better than Sainsbury's rouge.But wine pricing is a weird business. This week I went to the launch of the 1998 vintage of Pol Roger's prestige line, Cuv&eacute;e Sir Winston Churchill. It is, as you would imagine, very delicious. And it costs &pound;100 a bottle. But a tiny amount is made, and they are desperately anxious not to get the bling, rock stars and Russian millionaires image. So they refuse to provide it to people who they fear might sell it on to certain West End nightclubs or restaurants. Their long-term image is more important than the immediate profits.They told me darkly that there is a new breed of PR person whose job it is to reduce sales. Companies like Burberry have been horrified to see yobs wearing their design, and some champagne houses are similarly afflicted. So they employ people to discourage the wrong sort of customer. I wonder how they work? "Nah, mate, you don't want this stuff. Now, Woolworth's fiver-a-bottle bubbly, you'll love that ..."Next day I went to a tasting of vintage Hine cognacs (these events tend to come in clusters). We were taken through nine brandies, including the 1944, which was fabulous, by Bernard Hine. He is an outgoing, elderly chap with faultless English and a majestic white moustache. Among the terms bandied about to describe the brandies were "figs, crystallised fruit, gingerbread, honey, apricots, flowers, quince, toast, vanilla, cloves, mushrooms, orange peel, truffles and jasmine" - one of those corporate Christmas hampers in a bottle.At one point a guest said he thought he detected fuel. M Hine looked like a Bateman colonel. His eyes bulged and his nostrils dilated. "Fee-you-ell?" he shouted. "Fee-you-ell? I do not like that word!" I thought he was a little unfair - the greatest Rieslings, for example, often have a touch of kerosene, and believe me, it all adds to the flavour.<b></b> To a literary lunch in Cambridge, to plug my book of sketches, The Hands Of History, and the two round-robin books, now collected in paperback as The Christmas Letters. (Incidentally I'll be doing the annual round-up in January next year; all contributions very gratefully received.) I was slightly alarmed to see that I had been placed next to Princess Michael of Kent, whose image in the press has not always been entirely favourable. To my surprise, she turned out to be extremely friendly, unpretentious, and very chatty about all sorts of topics. For example, she does a lot of work with wildlife preservation, and she told me that baby elephants have ears as thin as the skin on a crispy duck. If they're orphaned they lack the shade of a parent. This means that sun cream has to be applied to their ears. Not many people know that.<b></b> Last week I said that Sir Geoffrey Bindman had, at the knighthood ceremony, stepped on to the kneeling stool and walked up next to the Queen. His son, Dan, tells me that this is untrue - instead he hopped straight on to the dais. I am glad to correct the record, and apologise for any inconvenience caused.