John Gibson: Marsha and me, we’re just big pals

Mick Jagger’s not going to like this. He’ll be mad as hell. Let me say right away, I won’t elaborate on it until I’ve talked to my lawyer. Me and Marsha Hunt, we had a thing going on unbeknown to him.

American-born singer and author Marsha and your scribe relished a pasta-packed dinner in the Trattoria on the Royal Mile. What’s more, Marsha, now 66, later sent me love notes from her hideaway in Couin, near Calais.

Here’s one (pictured) with pressed flowers. Touched me, so it did, and I keep it precious under my pillow. Marsha, who allegedly inspired the Stones’ 1971 hit Brown Sugar, reportedly will be involved in a legal wrangle over letters between her and Jagger.

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None of my business and I’ve no connection. The pressed flowers correspondence is not for sale. Talk to my lawyer. By the way, Marsha, my luv, you’re due me a letter.

No bell prize

RESIDENTS in holier-than-thou Palmerston Place wish they had a district council like city hall in Baldock, Herts. It has taken only one complaint to silence the ear-numbing bells on early Christmas morning in St Mary’s the Virgin Church.

The din has prevailed for centuries but the locals have chorused “Lord save us!” and the Rev Andrew Holland is siding with public opinion. He’ll ring one bell for 45 seconds, rather than the traditional 20-minute brainwash.

Andrew, bless you, get yourself up to Edinburgh’ West End and muffle the damnable Christmas Day din from St Mary’s Episcopal Cathedral on Palmerston.