Mind Motion

THE FULL ENGLISH (10)

2012-01-25T07:36:00.006Z

We all know that if you sit an infinite number of monkeys at an infinite number of keyboards, they will eventually type out the complete words of Shakespeare. However, I very much doubt that they would ever have sufficient time to list the things that I do which drive my dear wife to distraction.

One example from the astronomically long list, is that I am prone to singing along to music in the car - worse still, I sometimes whistle. When this occurs, my aforementioned spouse says something like 'If you don't stop that whistling, I shall go completely doodlealley'.

I often use the phrase myself, but of course the true word is doolally. Somehow though, I find my wife's version rather endearing - so much so that I have been known to provoke it.

To go doolally means to go insane with utter boredom. The word comes from Deolali which was a British army camp north of Bombay (Mumbai) where troops who had finished their turn of duty before and during the second world war would be sent to await their passage home. Clearly they often had to wait a long time.

The full phrase is 'doolally tap'. 'Tap' was a Persian/Urdu word for malarial fever and so 'doolally tap' meant 'camp fever'. I imagine that those poor troops must have felt something like I do when sitting in the car waiting for my dearly beloved to finish getting ready to go out for the evening.

BEAM ME NOT SCOTTY

2012-01-22T07:39:00.004Z

I have a friend who lives in Northern Ireland. He comes over here to the UK regularly and does so by plane. Basically he uses planes like other people use buses. I could no more do that than stand on my head. I just hate flying.

Many of my intrepid aviator friends cannot understand this. Perhaps you are amongst them. Let me try to explain.

There was a well-known catch phrase from the cult sci-fi TV series 'Star Trek' which was 'Beam me up Scotty'. This was a command to be teleported back to the starship enterprise from whichever planet the crew were currently interfering with at the time.

Just think about teleportation for a moment. If you were offered to be teleported from say London to New York in ten seconds would you try it? Suppose we ask a for a few more details.

'Oh yes Sir. Teleportation is the quickest way to travel. The teleporter scans your body and records your personal cell pattern. It then disassembles your body, whisks you to your choice of destination and reassembles you exactly as you were.

Side effects? Well some people report a temporary dizziness and occasionally it may trigger a headache but that's it.

Accidents? Let me assure you that teleportation is statistically the safest way to travel compared to all other methods. True, a very few people have failed to reassemble and their cells are now drifting around the cosmos but the vast majority arrive safely.'

So will you be stepping into the teleportation chamber or hopping on the jumbo jet? Me - I'll be catching the bus.

UNEXPECTED DELIVERY

2012-01-18T06:15:00.013Z

I was chatting to a lovely lady the other day who is still living life to the full despite being well into her eighties.

Physically, she gets around pretty well aided no doubt by the fact that she has been rejuvenated with two replacement hips and two replacement knees. Mentally she's as sharp as a fox and has a fine sense of humour which I suspect she inherited from her father judging from the following tale which she told me.

I learned that she was the youngest of three daughters each of whom had been given a shorter nickname by their father than those which they had been christened with.

The oldest daughter was known as I.I. Apparently this stood for 'Injured Innocence'.

He called the second daughter M.C. because her conception, clearly not intended, came about because of 'Misplaced Confidence'.

As for the lady in question, she was dubbed A.B.C. The reason? Well it appears that she was the result of 'Absolute Bloody Carelessness'.

Careless it may have been but I can assure you that the world is a richer place for it.

GIVING ME THE BIRD

2012-01-15T07:42:00.002Z

I'm sitting in my kitchen doing a crossword. I glance outside and there is a pretty little sparrow perched on the fence.

I look at him. He looks right back at me. I know what he's thinking.

"It's all very well for you you featherless freak, sat there scratching about.

The feeder is empty. Why? Because you haven't got up off your featherless tail and put some seed out for me."

I consider breaking off from the crossword and going out to fill the bird feeder. I consider some more.

"I can't help but notice that you're still perched in there and that there's still no seed out here.

How about if I flew over and crapped on the washing that's hanging on the line? Would that get your tail up and moving?"

I go out and fill the feeder. I know who's boss.

Human 0 - Bird 1.

GAZING INTO THE CRYSTAL BALL

2012-01-11T07:21:00.008Z

The year is 1900. Only a very few people own a car and horse-drawn carriages are still favoured for getting about.

An American gentleman called Mr. John Watkins picks up his pen - probably the sort which you had to keep dipping into an inkwell - and begins to write.

"What may happen in the next hundred years..." Yes our Mr. Watkins is predicting the future. How well did he do? Judge for yourself as I list a few of the things which he jotted down way back then, one hundred and twelve years ago.

Colour photos: "If there be a battle in China a hundred years hence, snapshots of its most striking events will be published in the newspapers an hour later.... photographs will reproduce all of nature's colors."

Mobile phones: "Wireless telephone and telegraph circuits will span the world. A husband in the middle of the Atlantic will be able to converse with his wife sitting in her boudoir in Chicago. We will be able to telephone to China quite as readily as we now talk from New York to Brooklyn."

Supermarkets selling pre-prepared meals: "Ready-cooked meals will be bought from establishment similar to our bakeries of today."

Television: "Man will see around the world. Persons and things of all kinds will be brought within focus of cameras connected electrically with screens at opposite ends of circuits, thousands of miles at a span."

Express trains: "Trains will run two miles a minute normally. Express trains one hundred and fifty miles per hour."

He wasn't far off the mark was he?

How do you think the world will have changed a hundred years from now?

INFIDELITY

2012-01-08T07:25:00.002Z

I am worried. I am seriously concerned that my wife is having an affair.

All the tell-tale signs are there. She is frequently distracted and pays me very little attention. She spends a lot of time in a different room to me. She has that guilty look about her.

Sometimes if I enter the room unexpectedly, I find her in a state of near euphoria and yet she seems to be completely unaware of my presence.

But it is no mystery. I know who my rival is. In fact, I can give you a description. Black, smooth-faced and I have to admit it - cool. My rival's name? It is iPad 2.

It is newly acquired and I have only myself to blame. I helped set the thing up and now my wife spends practically all her time in its company. I even showed her how to use the thing and she's getting better at it all the time.

Now if I could just stop her using it as a mirror before she turns it on ...

SLOW THINKING

2012-01-04T07:27:00.007Z

Welcome. I mean to start the new year as I left the old one, by continuing my study of history. Do join me.

Let us take a moment to compare our knowledge, or perhaps I should say, our ignorance of atomic theory.

I would guess that like me, you are aware that matter, i.e. everything which we and our surroundings are made of is composed of atoms flying around in a space. These atoms are in turn are made up of a nucleus comprised of protons and neutrons and this nucleus is surrounded by a cloud of electrons. I would also guess that like me, that is about all you know.

Clever scientists have discovered these things using very expensive machines over the last 150 years or so and have shared their findings with the world. Given this, when do you suppose this quote was first spoken?

Nothing exists except atoms and empty space; everything else is opinion.

I am currently engaged in studying history as I mentioned and have discovered that these words were spoken by Democritus, a Greek philosopher, who lived between 460 and 370 B.C. This was when he first formulated his theory that everything was made up of atoms (from the Greek word 'atomos' which means indivisible).

I find it astonishing that someone could have conceived the idea of atoms that long ago. It is perhaps even more amazing that it was then over 2000 years before anyone picked up on the idea and developed it.

We can only hope that as far as knowledge is concerned, mankind now makes up for lost time - better late than never.

THE ROAD AHEAD

2012-01-01T07:14:00.005Z

As we approach the new year, there will be some who are fearful and others who look forward with great expectations.

Whichever you are you can embrace the future in the sure knowledge that there will be both good and bad times to enjoy or to endure.

I read these words today (author unknown).

Why is a car's windscreen so large and the rear view mirror so small?

Because our past is not as important as our future.

Whilst this may be true, I cannot help but reflect that when I taught my children to drive, I told them to ensure that they adopt the right driving position and keep a good view of the road ahead so they would have as much notice as possible for the moment when some idiot driver was hell bent on a car crash.

I told them that although the rear view mirror takes up a little of their forward view, they must never make the matter worse by hanging fluffy dice on the mirror to obstruct their view ahead still further.

I also taught them that when they were going to change their course, they must always check their rear view mirror first so they would know whether it was safe to turn.

So look forward to the new year and whatever it brings but remember what has passed and learn from it on your future course.

Me? I am to become a Grandad which I look forward to with great joy and with fond memories of how my own grandparents enriched my childhood.

Happy New Year.

WHAT THE DICKENS?

2011-12-28T03:29:00.001Z

Everyone deserves a second chance...

T'was the night before Christmas
- the weather was murky,
I'd peeled all the sprouts
and stuffed a small turkey.

The presents were wrapped
and lay under the tree.
Their labels all said
'Happy Christmas to me'.

Up until now,
my life's been a mess
but the truth of it is,
I've had a bad press.

I've really reformed -
I used to be mean
but I love Christmas now,
I'm really quite keen.

I've got my red suit on
with white beard and rouge.
Have you guessed who I am?
Yes that's right - Santa Scrooge.

FISHY TALE

2011-12-25T07:00:00.003Z

I'm sure that I have previously mentioned that my wife is blond. She frequently demonstrates the fact as witnessed by an amusing incident which occurred this afternoon during one of our regular ambles along the nearby canal path.

As we strolled alongside the water, we found ourselves approaching an angler who was using a fishing lure on the end of his line. This took the form of a very small rubber fish which had a moveable tail and with which he clearly hoped to catch something bigger. As we drew near, he pulled his line out of the water and reeled in his lure ready for the next cast.

My wife then proceeded to demonstrate her mastery of angling when clearly presuming that the lure was a real fish which the angler had caught, said 'Well done! What sort of fish is it?'

The angler replied 'It's a rubber fish' and to his credit he did so without a hint of amusement.

Clearly assuming that this was some type of fish which she had not heard of she replied 'Oh right. Are you going to keep it or throw it back in?'

HEAR TODAY GONE TOMORROW

2011-12-21T01:52:00.007Z

Despite being happily married, I often feel that I live a life of solitude. The reason for this is that my wife suffers from CRSD or Carefully Refined Selective Deafness. This appears to be a condition for which there is no cure.

It usually occurs at times when she is concentrating on something, such as a crossword for instance, and is triggered when I begin to speak. Curiously she quickly recovers as soon as I am silent.

Over the years I have learned to understand the various responses which she emits and these in essence are as follows.

Given the scenario that she is reading and I begin to speak the options are

1. She makes 'mmm' noises as if she agrees with me.
Meaning: She hasn't taken in a word I've said.

2. She is silent.
Meaning:
a) She hasn't taken in a word I've said. In this case she remains silent after I finish speaking.

or very rarely
b) She is hearing every third word and will respond when I finish. In this case there is a one in three chance that her response will actually relate to what I was saying.

I have tested this on numerous occasions. Here are two examples of the resulting dialogue -

Me: 'Your hair is on fire dear'.
Her: 'Mmm'.

Me: 'My cough is worse today'.
Her: Yes please, two sugars.

Maybe one day medical science will find a cure, but I doubt it.

NO BATTERIES REQUIRED

2011-12-18T06:37:00.003Z

I recently caught a few glimpses of the truly awful 'I'm a celebrity, get me out of here'. This is the program in which so called 'slebs' live in primitive conditions in the jungle and are encouraged to humiliate themselves by doing scary or revolting things in order not to let their side down. This set me to thinking about the important things in life and these are my conclusions.

Imagine if you will that you are to spend a week on a desert island entirely alone. You are supplied with food and water plus the necessary and appropriate clothing so your task is simply to find a way to occupy your time without getting bored out of your skull whilst you are out of contact with the rest of the world.

In order to achieve this, you are allowed to take just five items along. There is no electricity and batteries are forbidden so that's the iPhone, Kindle and computer ruled out. What would you take?

Here are my choices.

1. A good book. I bet this is on your list too. I'd make mine a big non-fiction one, maybe a history book.
2. Puzzles. Something to keep the brain active and engaged.
3. Notebook and pen to record my experience and note down my thoughts since I'm not allowed a camera (batteries).
4. My guitar. Music is such a joy even when it's me playing and singing it.
5. My photo album to look at photos of my loved ones to remind me what really matters in life.

What was on your list? I'd really like to know.

WE WISH YOU A DREARY CHRISTMAS

2011-12-14T01:38:00.003Z

Christmas is all about celebrating the birth of Jesus all those years ago right? Of course not.

Nowadays it's about trudging round the shops with festive musak infecting your ears irrespective of which shop you enter. I asked one assistant how they put up with the constant loop of Christmas music which they have to endure for hours on end and the answer was 'Pardon?' then he took out his ear plugs. I jest.

Have you ever listened to the lyrics to these Christmas choons?

'Oh I wish it could be Christmas every day'. Yeah right. Just think about that for a second. What a nightmare that would be. In fact what a brilliant horror film. 'Harry Potter and the perpetual Wizzard'.

How about 'Christmas comes this time each year'. So glad they told me that. Takes a good one to get past the Beach Boys, who of course also gave us 'little Saint Nick' for goodness sake.

There's sleaze. I am reliably informed that 'baby it's cold outside' is also known as the 'date-rape song'.

There's tragedy. 'Grandma got run over by a reindeer'.

But if you really want a festive song to get you into the right mood for Christmas look no further than John Denver's offering.

'Please Daddy, don't get drunk this Christmas I don't wanna see my Mamma cry.'

Thanks John, and a very merry Christmas to you too.

IT'S A DOG'S LIFE

2011-12-11T01:25:00.006Z

I'm sure that you will have heard of 'Help for Heroes', the charity which supports our brave members of the armed forces who have been wounded in active service.

You may not have heard of 'Hounds for Heroes' however. It was founded by Allen Parton who suffered a serious head injury while serving with the Royal Navy and was left wheelchair-bound. Having formed an amazing relationship with a dog named Endal, he is now busy having puppies trained to help others like him.

But there's the thing. This dog is a very talented canine. These are just a few of his skills.

He can:
Collect the post and deliver it to his owner's hand.
Help in the kitchen by opening cupboards and fetching cans etc.
Load and empty the washing machine. (Not mastered ironing yet).
Insert and remove a card in a cashpoint machine. (He's not been told the pin number).
Get shopping off the shelves in the supermarket and load the basket.
Open electric doors by pressing the pad... and much more.

No wonder we call them man's best friend.

DO THEY EAT TURKEY IN TURKEY?

2011-12-07T02:56:00.004Z

Christmas is getting closer and that turkey we're planning on eating will be starting to get a bit worried. We like the traditional thing but I got to thinking, what do other people round the world like for their Christmas food?

Well turkey is pretty popular right round the world but in addition...

The Romanians enjoy sarmale which are rolls of cabbage pickled in brine and filled with meat and rice.

Perhaps you would prefer the German favourite 'Weisswurst' which are sausages with veal and bacon, often flavoured with parsley, lemon, mace, onions, ginger and cardamom.

By the way - yes they do eat turkey in Turkey - at least some do.

I would certainly be up for the Danish Christmas dish 'Flæskesteg' - roast pork steak with crackling - my favourite.

However, I'll pass on the Jamaican Christmas curried goat and also on the fish soup which seems popular at Christmas in a great many countries.

But spare a thought for the poor Japanese. Apparently, since turkey is pretty much unknown there, they go mad for Kentucky Fried Chicken and have to order it weeks in advance if they want it for Christmas.

Oh and finally, if you want to know what they have for Christmas dinner in space I am reliably informed that in the International space station they will typically be tucking into smoked turkey, candied yams, green beans and freeze-dried cornbread dressing. Yum!

DID YOU COPY THAT?

2011-12-04T03:38:00.007Z

You can't always trust what you read on the internet. This may not come as a surprise to you but I confess it did to me, innocent that I am.

I've been doing a piece of research and I have discovered that much of the 'writing' in factual blogs and pseudo-reference sites is simply cut and pasted from elsewhere. This makes it pretty impossible to tell where it was originally written and whether or not it is true.

In case you don't believe me try this little experiment. I think you'll be as surprised as I was.

Type the following piece of text which defines what charcoal is into Google or your preferred search engine.

Charcoal is the dark grey residue consisting of carbon obtained by removing water and other volatile constituents

Now see how many totally different websites it appears in - either exactly as written or in a few cases very slightly altered.

Incredible isn't it?

Some of these sites are commercial, some of them are personal blogs but it is very obvious that they have been 'cut and pasted' over and over again.

Now try it again with the following text:

Plagiarism is defined in dictionaries as the "wrongful appropriation," "close imitation," or "purloining and publication" of another author's "language, thoughts, ideas, or expressions," and the representation of them as one's own original work

I rest my case.

THE LIMIT OF THE LAW

2011-11-30T02:49:00.005Z

I'm sure that like me, you're pleased when you read that through the advancement of forensic techniques, murderers and rapists are being prosecuted many years after the offence. No doubt they thought they had got away with their crimes after they went unsolved for so long but thankfully 'cold cases' are in the process of warming up.

Cases of child abuse are undergoing a similar process and the horrific stories which have emerged often reveal that the worst offenders frequently worked as professionals with children. So who can children trust?

You might think that a county judge would administer fair justice to his children but the recent viral video released by Hillary Adams of her father beating her in 2004 when she was 16 years old disproves this. The video is sickening and shows the father clearly losing self-control as he repeatedly lashes his daughter with a leather strap. At one point he shouts 'Lay down or I'll spank you in the f***ing face.' Hillary had the forethought to set up the 'sting' when the beatings were forming a pattern, secretly filming the event and has now shared it with the world.

I shall leave you to form your own opinions about this case but the one thing which appals me is that because of the American 'statute of limitations', there is a good chance that this clear act of child abuse will go unpunished. Apparently cases have to be brought to court within five years. The argument is that as time passes, evidence becomes less reliable.

In this country we do not have such a view. We try the case and if the evidence is deemed unreliable so be it but if the case is proved then justice has been done.

Here ends the case for the prosecution.

NO THANKS, I'VE GOT TOO MUCH ON MY PLATE

2011-11-27T02:03:00.007Z

You will never believe this but it's my duty to tell you.

The NHS are to try out a new piece of kit. It costs about £1500 and it's called a Mandometer. It's a plate. Not a gold plate. Not a silver plate. Just a plate. A plate which you eat off.

It's made by those cunning Swedes but you won't find this plate in IKEA. So what makes it so expensive?

It talks to you. Yes, you read me right. You didn't realise you needed a plate which talks to you did you? Well perhaps you don't - unless you're overweight. Because to be frank it doesn't just talk to you, it nags you. It's the worst kind of nagging too because it takes no notice whatever of your replies.

It says things like 'Are you feeling full yet?' or 'Please eat more slowly'. So it's polite at least. I mean it might have said 'Slow down you fat bastard'.

Get this. It has a monitor with a screen on which you can watch how your food is disappearing off the plate. Sorry to state the obvious but I can just watch the plate to see that.

Anyway, once my mother stopped nagging me for being what she called 'a greedy little pig' it wasn't too long before I had a wife to do the job so that's £1500 I have saved myself.

OH DEAR DIARY...

2011-11-23T02:04:00.004Z

I've just been checking my diary and I may have a problem. I expect you're fully aware of the joys of having an electronic diary. The big advantage is when you have a regular recurring event and can just enter it once with the instruction to repeat the event every week or month or year.

I well remember when I used to have a traditional diary and spent ages writing in my weekly events fifty two times. Now I just tap it in and say repeat every week and there it is stretching off to infinity.

It's brilliant for birthdays too especially when I know the year my friend or relative was born because it not only tells me the date but also their age. As a result I shall have no excuse now for missing my wife's 150th birthday. The main problem will be finding a 150th card in the shops.

I have made no secret of the fact that I intend to live until at least 100. This gives me a problem though. I shall obviously be thrilled to recieve the Queen's (or King's) telegram. The problem is that I may be out when it is delivered because unfortunately, my diary informs me that I shall be playing badminton that morning.

HOT AND COLD RUNNING ARGUMENT

2011-11-20T02:39:00.011Z

I have said before that I love this time of year (November) which is the month in which my birthday falls. I also ventured to suggest that many people like the time of year when they were born.

However there is one little thing which I am not happy about at this late Autumn period. It is time to switch on the central heating. Don't misunderstand me. It's not that I begrudge the power companies their income. The reason why I don't enjoy switching on the heating is that it is a source of disagreement between my wife and I.

I sometimes think that I could be dressed like an Eskimo and need to chisel away the ice to find the heating switch below and she would still be saying 'You're surely not thinking of putting the heating on? It's sweltering in here'.

When the heating is on, I am usually in at least three layers of clothing while she is wearing a vest top and going round flapping her hand to cool her face. I once tried to raise the subject of hot flushes but I value my life too much to make the same mistake again.

We control the heating via the thermostat which is at the foot of the stairs. When she passes it she turns it down to 18 degrees and when I pass it I turn it up to 20. I wonder - can plumbers fix the central heating when it has a nervous breakdown?

I have warned her that if I die of hypothermia she will be arrested for involuntary manslaughter but then of course, there is always the chance that I might find myself in the dock should she expire due to heat exhaustion.

TELL THE WORLD

2011-11-16T03:21:00.006Z

Has this ever happened to you? There I was, bouncing along merrily, buoyant with the prospects of the day ahead when I turned the page of my newspaper (The Times) and read something so appalling that I could think of little else for a long time afterwards.

The incident I speak of took place in Afghanistan, that hotbed of calm, justice and serenity and concerns a lady named Gulnaz. When she was a married woman aged 19, she was brutally raped and became pregnant thereafter. She now has an infant daughter and the good news is that eventually, her attacker was caught and convicted.

The bad news? Despite being an innocent victim of this crime, Gulnaz was given a 12 year jail sentence for adultery along with her child and in order to secure herself an early release she has been made to marry the rapist.

Like me, I'm sure that your jaw just hit the floor. The only thing that we can do for people like Gulnaz is to keep talking about her. Tell the world that we find this type of inhumanity totally unacceptable.

If I have brought Gulnaz' story to just one person who hadn't heard about it before then I am content.

I'LL TRY NOT TO BOAR YOU

2011-11-13T02:35:00.013Z

My daughter has always been very fond of pigs which may be due to the fact that she appears to have been born on National Pig Day, which incidentally is on March 1st.

The pig is a much maligned animal I discover. In my constant quest to research old sayings I find that in 1732 it was said that

'A hog in armour is still but a hog'. This was recycled in 1887 when it appeared as 'A hog in a silk waistcoat is still a hog'. More recently of course we have have the American version 'you can put lipstick on a pig but it's still a pig'.

I have recently found that the modern equivalents of some of these old sayings are not necessarily as aesthetically pleasing to the ear. When my daughter and I were discussing a mutual acquaintance of mature years who let us say, has overestimated her attractiveness I quoted 'You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear'. My daughter readily agreed adding 'Yes, you can't polish a turd'.

I suppose I could have said that our friend was 'mutton dressed up as lamb' but then that's a whole different animal.

FEELING WET

2011-11-09T01:40:00.007Z

Look, I'm bright me. I passed all my exams, got all the qualifications, even joined Mensa for a while. OK my memory isn't the best but otherwise my brain stands me in pretty good stead.

You will understand then why I'm a bit puzzled and pretty embarrassed to report the following event which took place earlier today.

I was in the gents toilet. Well somehow I find the gents caters better for my needs than the ladies and there isn't usually a queue. Anyway, having done my thing, I dutifully washed my hands and then held them under the electric air drier. We've all been there. You wave your hands around like a demented traffic policeman but nothing happens. Nothing.

So I applied a bit of logic. First I searched for a power switch. In the past I have often located this and found that it was switched off. No joy. Then I searched for a paper towel alternative but this was the only option.

Now in the past, I would usually give up at this point and dry my hands on the portable towel which I always carry with me also known as jeans. However, I thought I'd have one more attempt.

I'm not very technically minded but I know enough to be aware that these hand driers have a sensor underneath which detects the presence of your hands and then switches on the power. So I thought I'd try holding my hands really close to the hot air aperture to try to wake the sensor up.

It was while doing this that I felt the paper towel slightly protruding from underneath for yes, this was actually a paper towel dispenser and there was no hand drier in the room.

I dried my hands and walked out feeling rather sheepish but very pleased that it was a single cubicle and no-one had witnessed my senior moment.

Let it be our secret.

THE DREAM TEAM

2011-11-06T01:03:00.004Z

Today is my 65th birthday and last night I held a celebratory dinner in my own honour. There were 16 of us and we were in a private dining room in one of my favourite restaurants.

I had prepared a short speech despite my family's groans ('Oh no not another speech') and decided to deliver it after the main course before the wine had reached tsunami proportions.

The theme of my little chat was about the importance, having achieved the grand old age of 65, of having a good team behind you and in my case, I was looking at them. Between them, my friends and family present at the dinner are able to provide all of the useful support services I might need. The guests included

A Cordon Bleu chef to satisfy the inner man.

An Accountant to nurture my newly acquired pension.

A magistrate to get me off with a caution when I am hauled up for driving the wrong way up the motorway.

A Pharmacist to advise me how best to use my free medicine prescriptions.

A sports coach to keep me fit.

A weather expert to ensure my life's autumn days are sunny.

An advisor for vehicles for the disabled should my fitness expert let me down.

A home entertainment advisor who boasts one of the largest DVD collections in the area.

A brilliant teacher (you're never too old to learn) and fashion advisor who keeps me looking trendy.

A bodyguard - who is an army sergeant (don't mess with me).

A fully qualified life coach - sadly too late for a mid-life crisis.

A home improvements expert.

A marketing manager to help me publish my book.

A master stonemason who will be able to make me a bespoke gravestone of the finest quality when my luck runs out.

The love in my life and the love of my life who also serves as the other half of my brain (I lack the common sense gene).

All in all, the dream team.

OPEN ALL HOURS

2011-11-02T01:54:00.004Z

My wife and I have had a 'Duh' moment. You know - when you've been a bit slow to catch on. In our case, 'slow' was four years.

Let me explain.

We've lived in our lovely house for five years or so and like everything about it. The first thing we had done was to get a gas fire fitted - the sort that looks like a real coal fire. We love it. We also get to use it a bit more often than we'd like because we have always found the living room to be a bit draughty.

Of course this is fine during the warmer months of the year but when the chillier ones come around we sit there shivering until we light the fire.

So it continued until about a year ago when my wife had her eureka moment. 'Why don't we try shutting the door?' she said. So we did. Ever since then, our living room has been 'toasty' and we have been able to warm it up by just lighting a few candles instead of the expensive gas fire.

How stupid is that?

“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the the universe.” - Albert Einstein

IT'S A STEAL

2011-10-30T05:01:00.001Z

I was reading recently about local crime in my area where it seems that the theft of metal is on the increase. This got me to thinking about what other things get stolen and there were quite a few oddities.

For instance, there was the case of Piotr Gorski, a Polish burglar, who stole twelve jars of gherkins. When he was a few streets away, he started to gorge himself on his ill gotten gains but began to choke on them so not only got arrested but had to be life-saved too.

Then how about Felicidad Noriega, former first lady of Panama, who was charged with stealing twenty seven buttons off jackets at a local store.

They usually say 'everything but the kitchen sink' but in the case of poor James Elstub from Dewsbury, the thieves took that too along with the rest of his new kitchen.

One of the weirdest crimes though must be the theft of human hair from hair salons in America. Apparently it sells for as much as $100 a bundle.

Next time I go to the hairdresser, I think I'll take my hair clippings back home with me!

EVERY CLOUD HAS A SILICON LINING

2011-10-26T02:59:00.008+01:00

I've been outside looking at the clouds. Well, not just any cloud, my own personal cloud. I'm not totally sure, but I think I spotted it. It's a white fluffy one just above my house.

You see since I updated my computer and my phone they now use something called iCloud. As I understand it I have signed up for my own personal cloud which has my email address on it. It also stores all of my data - you know - stuff like diary entries, contacts addresses and phone numbers, that sort of thing.

Let me explain how it works. When I type in a new diary entry on my phone, the information is whisked up to my fluffy little cloud and kept all safe and snuggly there. The cloud, realising that it has a new bit of data, sends it straight to my computer so that as I type on my phone, I see the result appear on my computer within a few seconds. Amazing isn't it? It means that I no longer have to plug my phone into my computer to 'sync' it.

My only concern is that on sunny, cloudless days, I'll have to return to the old method.

FEEL THE LOVE

2011-10-23T01:54:00.006+01:00

I suppose if one thinks of love poetry, then Keats or Shelley come to mind. But they are long gone. Who would you say has taken their place?

Just like the daisy which goes unnoticed as it is trampled on, sometimes beauty is found right under our feet. I give you the words of Don Black:

Tell me on a Sunday

"Don't write a letter when you want to leave
Don't call me at 3 a.m. from a friend's apartment
I'd like to choose how I hear the news.
Take me to a park that's covered with trees
Tell me on a Sunday - please

Let me down easy, n
o big song and dance

No long faces, no long looks
No deep conversation.
I know the way we should spend that day
Take me to a zoo that's got chimpanzees.

Tell me on a
Sunday - please

Don't want to know who's to blame
It won't help knowing.
Don't want to fight day and night
Bad enough you're going.

Don't leave in silence with no word at all
Don't get drunk and slam the door.
That's no way to end this.
I know how I want you to say goodbye
Find a circus ring with a flying trapeze.
Tell me on a Sunday - please

Don't run off in the pouring rain
Don't call me as they call your plane.
Take the hurt out of all the pain.
Take me to a park that's covered with trees.
Tell me on a Sunday - please"

In my humble opinion this is one of the greatest of modern love poems and when you add Lloyd Webber's music it simply transports the senses. Enjoy!

I COME IN PEACE

2011-10-19T03:11:00.005+01:00

Have you ever wondered why we shake somebody's hand when we meet them? No of course you haven't. Me neither until recently.

It is a little odd though don't you think to take a person's hand in yours and then pump it up and down as if you were hoping they might produce a fountain of water from their mouths?

Historians differ on their explanation for the phenomenon but do tend to agree that the ritual began before documented and recorded history which means they have to best guess. Their best guess then is that men when encountering each other would show their empty right hand as a gesture that they come in peace. This may have led to a mutual grasp of the forearm to check for hidden weapons.

The thing is that if the virologists have their way it will become defunct. It spreads disease too easily. They recommend touching elbows instead.

So obviously kissing will also be outlawed. What are the alternatives?

Well we could bow like the Japanese of course.

Maybe we could rub noses like the Eskimoses.

No, my suggestion is that we both turn around and bump bottoms. It's fun, it's healthy and it would begin the meeting with a laugh.

Let's shake on it.

IT'S THE NEXT BIG THING

2011-10-16T02:44:00.003+01:00

I've seen the future and it's scary.

We've just witnessed the start of the technological revolution. It began about thirty years ago with the advent of home computers and shortly afterwards came the mobile phones which soon incorporated computers and thereby became essential to our daily needs.

Look how fast it's taken off. Twitter, iPads, Androids, Skype, Facebook - all words which were unknown just a few years ago.

We didn't see it coming. When I first pressed the wobbly rubber keys on my ZX Spectrum back in 1981, I had no idea it would be the first step on a path which would allow me to tweet in real time with somebody in war-torn Afghanistan about how things were going for them.

When I first put the mobile brick to my ear to call somebody, little did I know that it would lead to a Skype conference allowing me to sit in my Gloucester home to see and hear a friend's new born baby in Belgium.

So what is the next big thing? Robots.

The techno-geeks are working round the clock to produce lifelike robots which will look and act like humans. They will be servants in our homes performing the menial tasks and thereby allowing us to spend more time on things we choose to do rather than things we have to do.

It doesn't take a huge leap of imagination to foresee a time when disease, warfare or climate change wipes out mankind leaving the robots largely untouched. The Earth will then belong to the insect world who will no doubt find it curious to be allowed to crawl over the hard-working household robots' faces without being swatted.

Frightening.

SHOW'S OVER FOLKS

2011-10-12T02:23:00.002+01:00

I didn't really understand why the make-up girl spent so long sprucing up my face in readiness for such a brief TV appearance. What's so wrong with my face that it should need such prolonged efforts on her behalf?

I'd been told that it would be five minutes at most. A short introduction from my interviewer highlighting the peaks and troughs of my life followed by a few searching questions to elicit my views on certain issues.

I'd been carefully primed and knew the questions beforehand so that I wouldn't need to strain the memory banks or produce the dreaded long silences which I'm sure, are the main thing which TV producers most fear on a life show.

So I was ready and watching for the red light on top of the camera to turn green to signify the start of the programme.

Then the alarm bells started ringing - no I mean literally. It was just my recurring minor celebrity dream again. I turned off the alarm, got out of bed and headed for the bathroom to prepare for the day.

CROSS YOUR HEART AND HOPE TO DIE

2011-10-09T02:39:00.003+01:00

Remember when you were told a secret in the playground and had to cross your heart and hope to die? The full version was 'cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye'. It was mostly the thought of the needle in my eye which kept me from ever revealing that my mate Roger secretly loved Lucy Granger or whatever the secret was.

I have a few secrets at the moment which I have sworn not to tell though not with such a bloodthirsty oath as the playground version. My lips are sealed until such time as they are revealed by someone else.

Of course in time the need for secrets to be kept disappears. This can follow the death of a key person involved or simply the passing of sufficient time.

Some secrets are therefore eventually de-classified and revealed to the world. For instance, apparently, if we had ever captured Hitler, Winston Churchill was determined to have him executed in the electric chair - to hell with war crime trials.

Of course there are also secrets which are still shrouded in mystery, like the crashed UFO recovered at Roswell, New Mexico. The material which the craft was made from was listed simply as 'unknown' - spooky.

Can you keep a secret? Or are you a blabbermouth?

AIMING TO PLEASE

2011-10-05T05:23:00.010+01:00

I was amused by a line in 'Outnumbered' recently, when long-suffering Mum Sue came downstairs sporting a pair of rubber gloves having been cleaning the toilets. She complained to anyone who would listen that there appeared to have been a urine tsunami in the toilet and could the male members of the household please take better care with their aim.

To be honest they haven't got a leg to stand on since, none of them having reached their fifties, their *ahem 'equipment' would be fully functional and accurate. Unlike mine.

You see, with age comes a lessening of pressure like a garden hose which is so feeble that you need to stand much closer to the flowers if they are to get remotely wet.

I am always embarrassed by a particular public toilet in a Bristol shopping centre which has targets painted in each urinal position. They are about waist height and the chances of my weakly wee stream getting anywhere near the mark are nil.

My poor wife often finds that the tsunami has struck in our house too. I have tried to explain that it's very difficult when you adopt a careful position with your man's bits above the bowl so as to avoid dripping onto your toes, pointing your third leg carefully at the middle of the loo and having checked that all is set, letting loose only to find that the stream which emerges adopts the shape of a divining rod and goes to left and right missing the toilet completely. Quickly adjusting the aim to bring the right-hand stream back into line only means that the left-hand stream is now missing the mark by about a metre.

I suppose I could always forego my macho stance and sit on the loo but this is difficult when you have 'morning wood' - then again, that's a whole different problem.

This reminds me of the old joke:

A Harrow man and an Eton man are at the urinal. They finish and zip up. The Harrow man proceeds to the sink to wash his hands, while the Eton man immediately makes for the exit.

The Harrow man says, "At Harrow they teach us to wash our hands after we urinate."

The Eton man replies, "At Eton they teach us not to piss on our hands."

CHEERS!

2011-10-02T00:26:00.002+01:00

Talk about a good news day!

The first story my eyes alight upon hungrily is that it appears that drinking coffee helps to prevent you from getting depressed. I think that we coffee drinkers were ahead of the game here. I mean, if you're anything like me, that first cup of coffee of the day makes you feel like you could leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Next I spotted that another of my vices, red wine, can help me to lose weight. Yes, it's official - you can drink yourself slim. Who knew?

So now I know that it's all the coffee and red wine which I quaff regularly which has helped me to be the slim, happy person I see in the mirror each day. I suspect that it also explains why I am totally delusional.

Now I'm off to search the internet for the beneficial effects of cream cakes - wish me luck.

WHO CARES?

2011-09-28T02:55:00.005+01:00

I have great admiration for the nursing profession having been involved with health care workers professionally for most of my working career. In the main they do a wonderful job in poor conditions and for inadequate pay.

However, there have been tales recently of such poor nursing care in some of our hospitals, that thousands of patients have been starving and left to soil themselves in their beds.

I therefore read with interest that the NHS and nursing unions have reacted to this criticism by explaining that there are too few nurses to cope, especially at busy periods like mealtimes and therefore, they urge relatives to help in caring for the everyday needs of their hospitalised loved ones by assisting with feeding or by taking them to the toilet.

My brother, who went into hospital for an operation which was anticipated to involve a two week stay on the ward, has so far been in for four months.

I have assisted as best I can but have found this difficult since I am limited by visiting times of an hour in the afternoon and an hour and a half in the evening.

As for helping with meals, there are signs on the (often locked) door saying that meal times are 'protected'. It seems an odd idea that patients should need protection from their relatives at meal-times.

If the hospital staff would like the assistance of patients' relatives, might I suggest that we are allowed in a little more often? Perhaps also, we could be treated as an asset rather than as a nuisance.

THIS COULD CHANGE YOUR LIFE

2011-09-25T01:19:00.006+01:00

I find it truly amazing that with all my years of experience, I still learn new things every day which though simple in themselves can be quite life-changing in their effect.

For instance, it's taken me a long, long time to discover the secret of how to prolong one's pleasure but I have finally achieved it and am willing to share it with you dear reader.

I have found that the climactic moment, which bursts so joyously upon the senses can be extended so as to last and last thus prolonging the pleasure over and over again.

The result is completely amazing and can work not only to provide much enhanced enjoyment for oneself but prolonged pleasure and satisfaction for your partner as well.

That is, if you choose to share your bag of crisps with them.

Yes, eating crisps will never be the same for me since I discovered that by biting just a small amount off each separate crisp, I get all the same delightful mix of crunchiness and taste but the packet lasts for ages and ages.

I hope this handy tip will bring you as much satisfaction as it has for me.

THE REUNION DINNER

2011-09-21T11:57:00.009+01:00

Couldn't resist telling this one...

A group of four friends who went to the same girls school reach their fiftieth birthdays within a few days of each other and decide to mark the occasion by dining out in style.

"Let's go to the Jubilee Restaurant" says Daphne - "I've heard that the waiters there are really good looking." They all agree and have such a fine time eyeing up the waiters that they decide to meet up again when they reach their 60th birthdays.

A decade later they have to decide a venue once more.

"Let's go to the Jubilee Restaurant again" Susan suggests - "the food and wine there were so good last time." So the Jubilee it was and they had a great meal.

Ten years later they are faced with the same decision. "Let's go to the Jubilee Restaurant" says Bridget - "the wheelchair access is excellent there."

Finally they reach their 80's. "This time let's go to the Jubilee Restaurant" says Maureen - "It will be so nice to go somewhere we've never been before."

SCAREDY CAT?

2011-09-18T14:18:00.007+01:00

As far as I know I'm not a coward. But then of course it's hard to know until you are faced with a scary situation and have to decide whether 'fight or flight' is the best course of action.

The only moment in my life which comes to mind is when I returned home one day to find my wife and daughter outside the house in a terrified state because the front door had been forced and they were sure there was an intruder inside the house. On that occasion, the red mist descended and I ran indoors and raced round with murderous intent to try and find the burglar. Thankfully he had already run off.

In times of war, men who were branded cowards were vilified and often abused or imprisoned but I can't help feeling sorry for them. Cowardice is not a matter of choice. It is just the way you react in a crisis. Bravery is admirable but cowardice, though not a flattering quality, should invoke our sympathy not our anger.

Eek!!! There's a spider crossing my desk!

OPEN ALL HOURS?

2011-09-14T02:09:00.002+01:00

I recently paid a visit to the Black Country Living Museum near Dudley. I can heartily recommend this as a fascinating glimpse into a recent but bygone age. Among other things, it seeks to recreate streets just as they were fifty to eighty years ago when the corner shop ruled supreme.

It struck me as I entered an old fashioned grocer's or hardware shop that I was not so much viewing the past as glimpsing the future.

There is nothing quite so sad as seeing the demise of our shops as one by one they succumb to the relentless advance of the supermarket and megastores. Unable to compete with the buying power of these huge establishments, the greengrocer and the butcher sadly close their doors for the last time and likely as not, end up working on the vegetable or meat departments at Tesco or Asda.

It is sad but also completely inevitable. The sweet shop where I spent my pocket money will no doubt be consigned to the museum in future. I can only hope that Joni Mitchell was wrong when she sang 'they took all the trees and put 'em in a tree museum'.

Nostalgia just isn't what it used to be *sigh.

PEAS EXCUSE MY IGNORANCE

2011-09-11T01:49:00.003+01:00

A correspondent in the Daily Mail offers a remarkable example of how times have changed.

I well remember the childhood joy of Sunday lunch with my family. There is nothing quite like the smell of a roast cooking to whet the appetite. Of course cooking a roast dinner is not achieved without hard work and my Mum used to share the burden by getting us to help out by peeling the potatoes, top and tail the carrots or pod the fresh peas.

Of course nowadays, peas are most frequently bought in frozen form and to the younger generation, their source is a mystery as evidenced by the aforesaid correspondent who describes her experience at a supermarket checkout. The cashier, a young girl in her teens, picked up the bag of fresh pea pods and examined them with great puzzlement.

'Excuse me, are these beans or peppers?' she enquired. When informed that they were peas she laughed and replied "Don't be silly. Everyone knows that peas are round". The correspondent opened a pod to prove that there were indeed peas lurking within.

Oh the ~~ignorance~~ innocence of youth!

FULL CIRCLE

2011-09-07T01:57:00.002+01:00

It's funny where one's train of thought can take you.

For instance I was stuck on a crossword clue this morning. The clue was 'American cricket'. Now being unaware that Americans ever played our lovely game, this perplexed me until I discovered 'Katydid' in the encyclopaedia. This is a small insect with long legs and is noted for its loud mating call.

Curious name I thought - puts me in mind of the Susan Coolidge books, 'What Katy did' and 'What Katy did next'.

This in turn caused me to think of 'what Katie did in her every waking moment'. You see I had recently read that Katie Price, that well known master of the written word, not content with having written four autobiographies for our literary delight, apparently considers her life to be of such significance that it warrants a glossy magazine cleverly entitled 'Katie'. Will anyone be able to resist finding out what her tattoos mean or how she always leaves two Rice Krispies in the bowl? I sincerely hope so.

Which of course brings us full circle to the insect with long legs noted for its loud mating call.

BE OF GOOD CHEER

2011-08-07T04:15:00.002+01:00

I'm often inspired to write by something amusing I read in the news and there is the problem.

Recently the news has been lots of doom interspersed with bits of gloom. It seemed to start with the devastation of the Japanese tsunami, then the tragic waste of a huge talent with the death of Amy Winehouse.

Since then we have had the deaths caused by the oppression in Syria and many other countries. More recently came the diabolical shootings of innocent teenagers in Norway and finally the Norwegian polar bear who killed a British lad and injured others.

So apart from the news that there are only 145 shopping days left until Christmas is there any reason not to follow the lemmings over the cliff?

Well yes I believe there is. You see, unlike those Japanese who perished in the wake of the tsunami, unlike Amy Winehouse, unlike the Syrian protesters, unlike the Norwegian teenagers and unlike the polar bear - we are alive. As long as we are alive we have the potential to experience great joy.

STAYING IN CONTROL

2011-07-24T01:54:00.001+01:00

I may be wrong, indeed I hope that I am, but I fear that my wife might be developing into a bit of a control freak.

There are a few tell-tale signs such as mornings when I feel that I am being dressed like a doll.

"You weren't thinking of wearing that were you?" pointing at the shirt which I have just fetched from the wardrobe with the obvious intention of putting on.

Or perhaps the slightly more subtle:

"Obviously those trousers don't go with that shirt - but then I'm sure you knew that already".

Then there are the dietary examples such as when I have just put two slices of bread under the grill and she arrives in the kitchen to deliver the words:

"Surely you're not having toast when we're going to be having a big lunch later?"

Now as anyone will tell you, I'm anything but submissive. So whilst there is no way that I shall be giving in to these attempts to direct my life I intend to gently succumb occasionally just to keep her happy. The important thing is that I have realised what is happening and can ensure that I retain control of my own life.

Oops - must dash - she's coming upstairs and I mustn't let her catch me wasting time on my computer.

DREAM ON

2011-07-10T00:01:00.000+01:00

I am about to discuss matters concerning my marital chamber but lest my children are reading this, let me hasten to assure them and indeed any others of a nervous disposition, that there follows nothing which will adversely affect your sensibilities.

There are a few rare occasions when I find that I have so mismanaged my affairs that I find myself rising before my dearly beloved who slumbers on hopefully undisturbed by my alarm clock. Indeed such is the haste with which I turn it off that I am in danger of injuring myself in the process.

I creep out of bed being careful not to turn on the bathroom light until I have safely shut the door so that the bedroom remains in complete darkness. I perform my ablutions in as near silence as possible, odd though it feels not to be singing in the shower. Once dried I creep back into the bedroom leaving the door open just a crack to afford me the light necessary to dress by and to ensure that I do not collide with the bed in the dark.

Having dressed and as the love of my life continues to sleep soundly, I find my shoes and nowadays requiring to be seated for the purpose, I lower myself slowly onto the side of the bed to put them on.

Ready to face the world, I quietly open the door and creep out leaving the dreamer totally undisturbed.

This morning I was surprised to find that as I headed to the bathroom thinking to leave my wife dormant, she got out of bed and drew back the curtains.

"Why don't you have a lie-in for a bit longer?" I suggested.

"No chance of that the way you crash around in the morning" she retorted.

Women!

JUST PULLING YOUR LEG

2011-07-06T01:14:00.001+01:00

Hooray the sun's out again. That means my legs are too. I don't get enough opportunities to wear my shorts - but then there are some who would disagree.

Rest assured that I can do knobbly knees with the best of them. Mine are right up there with the Chippendales. No, no, not the male strippers, the furniture - we're talking Chippendale chairs here.

Being aware that it's best not to frighten the children, I am careful where I display my legs. As far as public areas are concerned, the beach and the boat are pretty safe but there are other places where I feel that my legs could be unwelcome.

For instance, although the normal position for the bridge club ladies' eyebrows is raised, I have no wish to be the cause of their elevation.

Indeed, it is when I see other males arriving at the club with their knobblies on show that I am convinced that I have done the right thing by covering up.

Let's face it chaps, unless your name is Rafa or Novak it is unlikely that your legs will be of any great interest to the fair sex except as a source of merriment.

I am pleased however, that we have progressed beyond the time when I recall an unfortunate gentlemen arriving at the Bristol bridge club wearing shorts. His appearance caused the loud noise of all the ladies' jaws hitting the floor at the same time.

In order to preserve the female members' modesty, the secretary had a discreet word with said gentleman and promptly sat him in a small adjoining room to play where he was well out of view. Times have definitely changed for the better.

MINI MEMO

2011-07-03T01:59:00.005+01:00

Well if this doesn't convince you that I need therapy nothing will.

I'm loving my new car. However, it does pose a few new problems - well three to be precise.

Firstly, if I plug my phone into the mini's brain, my car will then do things like talk to me or on occasion, talk to itself. I let it do it's thing, not wishing to interrupt. The problem is that I keep finding that when I go into my home and need to text someone, my phone is still nestling comfortably back in the car.

Secondly, in keeping with my new car's image, I have a variety of glasses to choose from when driving. There are my everyday glasses. There are my driving glasses in a tasteful shade of yellow tint. There are my night-driving glasses in a rather more vivid yellow tint and of course there are my sunglasses which are my rather feeble attempt to look cool.

The problem here is that when I have just entered my house to discover that I have left my phone in the car, I find myself wondering why my wife has put on yellow make-up whilst she in turn is wondering whether to query my jaundiced eye sockets. So I have to return to the car to change back to my normal spectacles.

Finally, there is the issue with my door mirrors. They can fold back safely out of the way when I park but of course, if I fail to remember to unfold them, I catch myself driving off and suddenly discovering that I can't see whether it is safe to overtake.

So I applied myself to the problem of these three things to remember to do both before setting off and also before getting out of the car at my destination. Mirrors. Phone. Glasses. Eureka! M-P-G as in 'miles per gallon'.

So if you see a bright new mini with a yellow post-it note on the car window with the letters MPG written on it, you will know who it belongs to.

VINTAGE WHINE

2011-06-29T01:57:00.007+01:00

I was pleased to see recently that doctors have finally realised that the current drink limits for the over 65's need to be changed.

You only have to see the photos of binge-drinking youths which appear regularly in the newspapers to realise that we senior citizens have a much more sensible attitude to alcohol than younger generations do and it is clearly time that this was taken into account in setting these drink limits.

After many years of drinking experience, we have matured like a good vintage wine and our ability to drink responsibly has obviously improved year on year.

Speaking personally, I am always well aware of my limits when drinking. The first limit occurs when I become merry. Then there is the limit at which my speech begins to slur a little. The next limit is reached when pouring a drink and spilling it become inexplicably linked. Following this, I find that the subsequent limit usually manifests itself by the desire to dance - usually the venue and lack of a dancing partner are irrelevant here.

The final stage is usually silent, the power of speech having disappeared, and is also identified by the constant of a wine bottle in my hand which may or may not involve a glass. As a mature drinker, I can assure you that I always stop drinking not too long after this last stage is reached.

Say what? They want us to drink less? They say our drink limits should be lower? Preposterous. I can only think that these doctors must have been as drunk as skunks when they wrote their report.

WONDERFUL WOMEN

2011-06-26T03:17:00.003+01:00

I must confess to being in awe of womankind. We arrogant males have sought to subjugate them so often in history and sadly this state of affairs still continues in the culture of many countries round the world today.

You cannot but admire the women who have bravely fought back against this tyranny. Women such as Emmeline Pankhurst, who was prominent in the suffragette movement in the late 1800's and early 1900's. Most notably, Emily Davidson died for this cause when struck by the king's horse at the Epsom derby in 1913.

More recently, we have the reports of brave Saudi women protesting because in their country, women are banned from driving cars although there is no obvious reason why this should be the case apart from a further attempt at the subjugation of women.

If you need more evidence of the way in which women are gradually and rightfully edging towards equality, look no further than the phenomenon known as slut walks. These were instigated after a foolish Toronto policeman suggested that women who wore 'provocative' clothing were in some way a legitimate target for rape.

Women across the globe have reacted to this nonsensical suggestion by organising protest marches dressed up in 'slutty' clothes and sporting wonderful banners such as my favourite 'This dress does not mean yes'.

Yes, women are truly amazing and I am willing to place a bet, that had she been alive today, Emmeline Pankhurst would have been there leading a slut walk wearing her best basque.

REALITY CHECK

2011-06-22T08:50:00.007+01:00

Generally speaking, like most people I imagine, I like to keep abreast of fashion.

Where clothes are concerned, I have for instance, embraced cuban heels and winkle pickers, bell-bottoms and drainpipe trousers, kipper ties and donkey jackets.

Turning to household fads and fashion, I remember being swayed by the trend to having bathroom suites in dark colours. I seem to recall that 'Pampas' and 'Avocado' were all the rage back in the 60's and 70's.

There are some modern trends however which are so repugnant that I shall be shunning them like the plague. I shall not for instance, be leaving the house with my trousers rolled up at the bottom. The only time in my life when I have done that is to go for a paddle on the beach.

With regard to home interiors, they have come up with an idea which sadly, seems to be catching on. It is a notion so sick and depraved that it fills me with horror. I refer to 'faux food'. You must have seen it. First there was fake fruit in bowls which were so lifelike that you were in great risk of breaking a tooth as you succumbed to temptation and took a bite out of a delicious looking pear.

Worst of all, we now have cup cake stands with a few temptingly placed cup cakes on them made I assume, of plaster of paris or the like. This is sheer torture.

Rest assured that if you visit my home any food on display will be edible, not for display purposes. Mind you, the fact that I haven't already eaten it would suggest that it could be well past its best before date so be warned.

LET US SPRAY

2011-06-19T01:36:00.004+01:00

I'm all for freedom of speech but that goes with freedom to choose not to listen.

People have been speaking out on all manner of subjects at Speaker's corner in Hyde Park since the mid 1800's and long may it continue. They say their piece and then their words are carried away by the wind and when they've gone the park is quiet again.

Graffiti is a whole different thing. When somebody daubs their words of doubtful wisdom all over a wall, fence, bridge or whatever, it remains, often with horrendous spelling mistakes for a very long time.

Well if you can't beat them, join them. I plan to get a can or two of aerosol paint - one black and one white might do it, and having donned my black anorak, sneak out at the dead of night to spray my neighbourhood.

Of course, I shall be spraying over the existing graffiti to restore the black fence or the white wall to its former glory. Care to join me?

Trouble is, my anorak being what it is - it's not so much urban guerilla as urban gorilla.

CANINE BLUES

2011-06-15T01:43:00.004+01:00

I didn't see it coming. Things seemed perfectly normal but people kept asking me what the matter was. Then suddenly I saw it. Just sitting there looking at me and wagging it's tail.

The 'black dog' was Winston Churchill's nickname for his bouts of depression. It all made sense when I realised that I was depressed. Then I got depressed because I was depressed. Now I'm getting depressed because I am writing about being depressed and that is the last thing you want to read about - right?

I found myself walking along waiting for the pigeon droppings to land on me. Feeling that I wanted to cry for absolutely no reason. I recognised the miserable mutt. He and I were close companions for a year or so but that was a very long time ago.

It is health issues - mine and close family which have invited the black dog in but I'm sure that half the battle is recognising it. So I'm going to stare it down, peer into it's eyes unblinking until it slinks away to find someone else to pester.

There it goes ... tail between it's legs.

THE FULL ENGLISH (9)

2011-06-12T02:16:00.003+01:00

Long marriages are a bit of a tradition in my family, none more so than my parents who having married in 1944 were parted only by death as their vows had required of them some fifty six years later.

I often love to browse through their 'Lover's log'. This is a delightful book in which they had completed sections such as 'What first attracted you to her/him?' It also asked that they give each other scores out of ten for such qualities as 'good looks', 'obstinacy' and so on.

They had their ups and downs like most couples but everyone who knew them could sense the close bond of love which united them. I remember my grandmother once remarking that my Mum was 'the apple of Dad's eye'. At the time, I probably just thought that Gran had got her words muddled up but I know now of course that it really is a common expression in our language.

The origin is apparently biblical and refers to the centre or pupil of the eye as something very precious to you. It occurs several times as in

Proverbs 7:2
- Keep my commands and you will live;
guard my teachings as the apple of your eye.

Today I am giving my daughter away in marriage. I can only hope that when she and her new husband look lovingly into each other's eyes, all they see is a big bowl of fruit.

LOVE STORY

2011-06-08T01:02:00.004+01:00

I hope that like me, there have been times in your life when you have been 'moved' by a good piece of writing.

My latest experience of this was watching a film called 'Lovely, Still' which stars Martin Landau and Ellen Burstyn. I have noticed that many critics panned the film as being 'cheesy', schmaltzy' and the like. They clearly have no soul.

I'm about to give a resume of the cleverly worked story which is therefore a 'spoiler', because I think it's worth retelling.

We are introduced to an old guy who lives alone and who works in the local supermarket. One morning he sets off to work as usual but forgets to close the front door behind him because he is distracted by noticing a removals van arriving at a house opposite.

When he returns home, he is worried to find his front door open and entering cautiously he is alarmed to discover an elderly lady within. He confronts her and she explains that she was concerned to see his door open and came in to check he was OK. She also reveals that she is part of the family who have moved in opposite.

Being of similar age, they quickly become close friends and as the attraction grows they fall in love and have the fun of a senior citizen first date.

Their love affair continues to blossom and the old guy starts to plan to propose to his new love. However, we are soon informed that the couple are in fact already married. He has dementia and not recognising his wife, has fallen in love with her all over again, much to her delight.

Though I have revealed the main twist of the plot there are many other surprises which will delight you should you decide to watch the film.

What a wonderful story - and one which has a place in my literary heart forever.

IN A BYGONE TEEN AGE

2011-06-05T01:48:00.005+01:00

November 6th 1957 may not have been a particularly special day in the history of the world apart, of course, from the release of the Elvis Presley film 'Jailhouse Rock', but it was a pretty big day in the history of the Letts household. It was the day on which I became a teenager.

I had been preparing for this for some time and had for instance, already mastered the art of the five morning week by surfacing after midday at weekends.

Now that teenagedom was officially proclaimed, I started work on the scruffy image associated with youths my age and this had the not unexpected result of attracting comments from my parents along the lines of

"You don't think you're leaving the house looking like that do you?"

This usually meant returning to my bedroom and making a few slight adjustments to satisfy Mum and Dad's requirements of my image.

Having recently observed a group of teenagers loitering locally with no intent whatever, it occurs to me that they never had it so good. I would have stood no chance of leaving home looking the way they do now.

Indeed it strikes me that a few parental comparisons are in order.

1957: "Pull your trousers up - I can almost see your pants".

2011: "Push your trousers down - I didn't buy you those Calvin Klein pants for your birthday so you'd hide them".

1957: "You'll have to change those trousers. There's a hole in them".

2011: "Would you like me to make a few more holes in those distressed jeans?"

1957: "Oh dear. I think you need a new pair of shoes. Those are badly worn".

2011: "You need to scuff those trainers up they look brand new".

1957: "Tuck your shirt in".

2011: "Pull your shirt out".

and don't even start me going on the hairstyles.

Jealous? Moi?

I THINK I'M TURNING JAPANESE

2011-06-01T01:13:00.002+01:00

Tenacious lot those Japanese. You will remember the Japanese soldier who fought on after the Second World war, finally surrendering some twenty nine years after the war was over. Apparently his orders were:

"You are absolutely forbidden to die by your own hand. It may take three years, it may take five, but whatever happens, we'll come back for you. Until then, so long as you have one soldier, you are to continue to lead him. You may have to live on coconuts. If that's the case, live on coconuts! Under no circumstances are you [to] give up your life voluntarily."

So he lived on coconuts for twenty nine years.

Recently their country was devastated by a Tsunami which has caused a major nuclear disaster through damaging a reactor which is left in a highly volatile and critical state.

Ideally, people need to go in there to try to put things right but the likelihood of radioactive contamination would seem to make this unfeasible.

Their response has been to raise an army of volunteers comprising pensioners with the necessary skills including retired academics, crane and bulldozer operators, construction workers, welders and engineers.

These amazing people, recognising that younger workers would face the danger of suffering illness, impotence and even death, feel that their own lives, being almost over, are worth risking for the sake of their nation.

No funny quips to end with... I am just in absolute awe of their heroism.

(Image courtesy of John Kasawa)

VICTORY IN THE BATTLE OF THE BULGE

2011-05-29T02:22:00.002+01:00

With my daughter's wedding now looming large on the horizon next month I thought it was a good time to try to slim down to fit into my waistcoat.

I make no secret of the fact that I am a foodie so the task here was to find a way to continue to eat loads of food, have fun preparing it and lose a lot of weight in the process. Suffice to say that I found the answer and so have far managed to shed over half a stone.

My secret? Well mindful of Mr. McGuire's words to Benjamin in 'The Graduate':

Me: I just want to say one word to you. Just one word.
You: Yes, sir.
Me: Are you listening?
You: Yes, I am.
Me: Melons.
You: Exactly how do you mean?

Trust me it works. Buy the melons of your choice. Slice one in half. Cover one half in cling-film and put in the fridge for next time.

Slice and chop your remaining half melon discarding the seeds. Add a couple of chopped glacé cherries to taste. Arrange in a dish like a small mountain. Enjoy.

Of course, you are free to think of other things to put with your melon. How about a gentle drizzle of vodka for instance?

MINI MADNESS

2011-05-25T01:44:00.005+01:00

I suppose there is a chance that I'm going through a mid-life crisis. My family certainly seem to think so.

With women it often manifests itself by having Botox or a facelift. I had a male friend who demonstrated his by digging a huge hole in the garden, filling it with water and then tipping a bag full of coy carp into it. His wife just gazes out at it every day with a bemused and puzzled expression.

More representative of the male midlife crisis is the sudden purchase of a Harley Davidson. In my own case, I am about to swap my beloved Jaguar (the one on wheels rather than the jungle version) for a brand new mini (the one on wheels not the short skirt which I keep for fancy dress parties).

The deed was done following a short period of drooling with desire over the brochures. An hour and a half test drive followed during which I could be seen as a senior go-karter whizzing up and down the motorway with a grinning expression all over my face akin to that of Jack Nicholson's in 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest'.

I could tell you of a few thousand reasons why I get a buzz out of the mini but I will limit myself to one - 'Dynamic Music'. When I get my new car, I shall be able to plug in my beloved i-Phone and my mini will then proceed to play a selected music track based on the way I am driving the car.

I can picture it now. 'Oh yes, sorry I was speeding officer. I was just trying to get the mini to play a track by Led Zeppelin'.

NOT SO EASY RIDER

2011-05-22T01:49:00.005+01:00

Having recently posted a first class letter which took four working days to arrive at it's destination some fifteen miles away, I have been musing over whether to find an entrepreneur who might be interested in reviving the now long extinct 'Pony Express'.

The Pony Express you may recall, was a fast mail service from St. Joseph, Missouri, to Sacramento, California, which operated from April 1860 to October 1861. Before the advent of the telegraph, it was the most direct means of east-west communication and was no doubt pretty useful in this period shortly before the American Civil War.

By my estimation, my letter would have been delivered some three days and twenty three hours earlier had it been sent via the pony's saddlebag.

One gentleman in Wrexham, North Wales, seems to have misunderstood the concept of the pony express having recently attempted to buy two train tickets, one for himself and one for his pony. When he was refused a ticket for the animal, he and the pony got into the lift and went down to the platform where they tried unsuccessfully to board the train.

Apparently, he later took the pony to hospital where he was again refused admittance. Presumably the pony was feeling a little hoarse.

ALL PUFFED OUT

2011-05-18T02:36:00.007+01:00

The year was 1994. I was sitting in the doctor's surgery waiting for his verdict on my nagging cough. Having identified the cause as bronchitis he said he had something he could give me for it. He duly ripped a sheet off his prescription pad and passed it across the desk.

When I looked at the prescription, I realised why he had not written on it. It was pre-printed and said simply, 'Stop Smoking'. He added that my lungs were showing the first sign of damage but that if I gave up smoking they would be back to normal within ten years.

Smoking had been part of my life for some thirty four years, the first twenty smoking cigarettes and the last fourteen puffing a pipe. It was going to be hard to give up but necessary.

I began by phoning my wife and asking her to remove everything from the house which was pipe-smoking related before I got home. There followed a period of months which were occasionally excruciating as my body readjusted to normality but then I became a smug ex-smoker.

Tell me, when dining in a pleasant, cosy restaurant do you ever look out of the window at the small gaggle of smokers huddling together to shelter from the chill wind and rain and think 'I wish that was me?' I'm guessing not. If however, you would like to try the experience without risk, you can now purchase an 'e-cigarette' which looks like a cigarette, glows like a cigarette, gives off wisps of smoke like a cigarette but contains no tobacco.

Alternatively, you can 'light up' in the middle of the restaurant and annoy everyone totally legally since e-cigarettes are not subject to the smoking ban. What a jolly wheeze! I must check if they make an e-pipe version.

HORSE SCENTS

2011-05-15T01:24:00.002+01:00

It has been a while since I had a good old-fashioned rant so should you be carrying a hard hat about your person, this might be a good time to put it to use.

Pretend for a moment that you own a dog, all the better if you actually do. It doesn't matter what type it is but since the royal wedding is still keeping us buoyant let's go for a corgi. Your much loved corgi needs regular exercise and the fact that it is sitting there looking at you with the lead in its mouth is a clue here. So off the pair of you trot for a brisk walk.

Your corgi is very creative and takes an early opportunity to produce a small work of art on the pavement in a carefully chosen spot. Having completed its masterpiece, it sniffs it and satisfied with its achievement is ready to continue.

Being well aware that the local council do not share your corgi's opinion of its latest production, you produce a plastic bag from your pocket and dutifully scoop up the poop so as not to fall foul of the law. However, as you are doing so, a horse and rider pass by and said horse chooses this moment to deposit a massive smelly, steaming pile of dung in the road which puts Fido's small effort to shame.

Unlike the contents of your plastic bag this is completely legal excrement. The horse can if it wishes, prance around the road depositing small dollops wherever it likes and then ride on leaving steaming heaps in its wake. What madness is this?

Of course, horse riders pay no tax to use the road whereas the poor motorist, that will be you and me, pay an extortionate amount of road tax, part of which is used to pay people to clean up the horse shit. This is plainly unfair. We even have to stop, or slow down to let these free-riders pass.

My vision is that horse's bridles be slightly modified with a small circular pocket to display a tax disc. They should in future, pay for the use of their road toilets.

Alternatively, how about horse nappies? I commend the idea to the house.

THE FULL ENGLISH (8)

2011-05-11T01:58:00.007+01:00

During my formative years, a common expression in our house to describe a chilly day was 'it's cold as charity and that's pretty chilly' but there was an alternative.

My mother wasn't normally vulgar in her remarks so during that rather short period of innocence which I went through as a child, I was somewhat taken aback when hearing her complain about the cold temperature during a particularly severe winter as being 'cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey'. Sounds very rude doesn't it? I certainly thought it was at the time but it seems that I did my Mother an injustice. It is in fact a very innocent expression with no reference to bodily parts whatsoever. Let me enlighten you, should you require enlightening that is.

Our seafaring ancestors needed to keep a good supply of cannon balls near the cannons on old war ships without them rolling about the deck. They were stacked with sixteen balls at the bottom, nine on top of those, then four and finally one on the top of the pyramid totalling thirty in all but if the bottom sixteen rolled about ... disaster.

The solution was a metal plate with sixteen round dents in it to hold the bottom layer in place. For some reason the plate was called a Monkey. To prevent rusting, this needed to be made from brass so they were known as 'Brass Monkeys'.

However, if the temperature dropped dramatically, the brass dents would shrink and the cannon balls would roll off the monkey.
So it was 'cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey'.

Sorry for doubting you Mum.

IN MEMORY OF A MOLLUSC

2011-05-08T02:44:00.000+01:00

Man has always sought to be remembered after his death.

Some achieve this through writing, their books being read decades after their demise, perhaps even centuries later.

Some achieve it through painting or sculpture. Works of art are treasured and kept in museums and galleries as a constant memory of their creators' talent. Cave paintings provide a lasting memorial to our ancestors.

Some extend their mortality through invention and are remembered for as long as their inventions serve a useful purpose.

Others live in our memory through notoriety. The famous are often remembered through having a statue erected in their honour, or at the very least, by being in the history books.

Celebrities of course, leave their hand prints in Hollywood's walk of fame as well as being remembered through the legacy of their films.

How jealous they would all be of the humble snail which I found in my garden this evening, for this snail is a perfect fossil, so lifelike as to fool a blackbird. He is many thousands of years old.

All the snail had to do to achieve man's dream was to be in the right place at the right time when he (or she) died.

ALTERNATIVE VIEWING

2011-05-04T02:26:00.006+01:00

Let's face it, it is a problem. If you were in charge of scheduling television programs for Channel PQR to be screened at the same time as the royal wedding that is.

At the last count it was expected that well over 30 million people would be watching Kate say 'I do' so you can knock them off your viewing figures before you start. Presumably the first question to ask yourself is 'What is my target audience?'

If my wife is anything to go by one of the main interests in THE wedding is to see the ladies' fashions and to catch up with the social gossip so it's a safe bet that your channel's audience will be predominantly males. That being the case, you could play safe with some sort of testosterone laden sport such as Sumo wrestling or ladies beach volleyball I suppose.

I thought to cast my eye over the actual television options available to the three people not watching Westminster and discovered that if you wished you were on a different planet you could boldly go into outer space with 'Star Trek' to avoid the royal nuptials.

There was a reminder that those who don't marry can remain 'Just Good Friends'.

'Partners in crime' was an option or thinking ahead to Kate's future after the great day there was 'Desperate Housewives'.

But on balance I hereby give my TWAT award (The Wedding Alternative Television) to Channel 4. They had clearly put serious thought into their TV option. So if the royal wedding wasn't for you you could watch 'Wife Swap' - just brilliant.

MY PART IN THE WEDDING OF THE YEAR

2011-05-01T01:29:00.002+01:00

Even though I fully expected to be invited to the big wedding, it was a delight to actually receive the official invitation and even though they knew full well that we would be attending, I did the correct thing and sent an official reply to reassure them that my wife and I would be very pleased to attend.

After all, I've known the bride for a great many years and she has always been a princess in my eyes. Because I know her so well, I was even privileged to see the wedding dress in advance. This did come with many caveats though. It was made clear that the version I was shown was not identical to the final one but very close to it. I was also sworn to total secrecy being warned not to tell a living soul about what has of course, been a very closely guarded secret.

Although she has waited a long time for this happy day the 'Princess' has chosen well and they will make a lovely couple. My one disappointment was in not getting to meet the bridegroom's family prior to the event but this is entirely understandable given their circumstances.

It is a shame that not everyone can be admitted to the wedding service but of course numbers are limited and well wishers who were not lucky enough to receive an invitation will no doubt be waiting outside to greet the newlyweds as they emerge afterwards.

All I know, is that as I walk my daughter down the aisle in June, I shall be as proud as Kate Middleton's father must have been as he gave his daughter away.

DO DROP IN FOR A COFFEE

2011-04-27T01:30:00.003+01:00

A news item this morning reminded me of my first honeymoon which was spent in a small village about fifty miles outside of Rome. It was an idyllic place, perched on the top of a hill.

There was a scattering of houses, surrounding a square where everyone would congregate in the evening. Close by the square was an olive grove and sheep grazed beneath the trees.

As I strolled around the olive grove in my lovestruck state of bliss I noticed something curious. I love olives and was picking the occasional one off the tree. They were not quite ripe so I thought to pick some which had fallen to the ground. It was then that I came perilously close to being put off them when I noticed the amazing similarity between the fallen olives on the ground and the goat droppings next to them.

Oh and the news item which reminded me of this was the story of an expensive but apparently delicious Sumatran coffee called 'Kopi Luwak'. The coffee beans which are used to produce this coffee are apparently prised carefully from the droppings of the civet, an indigenous wild cat of the region.

I am happy to report that this has not put me off my beloved coffee but I shall be avoiding any which hails from Sumatra in future.

HOW TO HAVE A HAPPY EASTER

2011-04-24T01:34:00.001+01:00

This Easter (2011) looks set to be a very strange one. Those crowds of people who have set off for the coast with their expectations and hemlines raised will have something to contend with which is very rare for the Easter holiday - warm sunshine.

Indeed today is Good Friday and as I write this I am having to try to avoid letting sweat drip onto the keyboard. Oh sorry. Were you eating?

Good Friday is so called because it really means God's Friday and it has some rather strange superstitions attached to it. I will relate these to you in the form of a few Dos and Don'ts.

1. Do give birth if at all possible. Your child will have the gift of healing and this should see you right in your old age.

2. Do bake cakes and make bread. They won't go mouldy.

3. Do lay eggs (if you are a chicken that is), for they will never go bad.

4. Do keep a hot cross bun in your house until it goes hard. This will protect your house from fire and save on the cost of smoke alarms.

5. Do have your hair cut. Apparently, this will prevent you from having toothache for the rest of the year. Of course finding a barbershop open on Good Friday could be an issue.

1. Don't plant crops. Under no circumstances should iron be put in the ground or there will be dire consequences.

2. Don't do laundry or not only will you wash away your family but the clothes which you hang out to dry will be spotted with blood.

3. Don't set off in a fishing boat - you will have bad luck unless you have a stale hot cross bun with you in which case you will at least be protected from shipwreck.

4. Don't wear an entire outfit of old clothes because if you wear nothing new, dogs will spit on you and birds will peck your eyes out.

5. Don't say I didn't warn you.

SCAREDY CATS

2011-04-20T02:19:00.001+01:00

Chances are that you're Sesquipedalophobic. If you weren't before you might well be now because Sesquipedalophobia is the fear of long words.

Like me, you might well be surprised at just how many things people are afraid of. It is a very long list. There are some which aren't too surprising. Pentheraphobia for instance is fear of your mother-in-law and surely a great number of women are Parturiphobic - which means that they fear childbirth. In fact there are several words all of which mean fear of childbirth. Tokophobia (or Tocophobia), Maieusiophobia and Lockiophobia all mean the same thing.

Others baffle me. I mean, who on Earth would be Plutophobic? This apparently means that they are afraid of being too wealthy. I only wish I could count a rich Plutophobic amongst my friends.

Equally, some poor chap somewhere may be Venustraphobic. If so, he is frightened of beautiful women. Whatever brought that about?

My Foolish Fear award however goes to those who are Arachibutyrophobic. These poor souls are frightened that peanut butter might stick to the roof of their mouth. There is of course, a simple solution to this problem.

So whatever your fears, I hope you may face them with courage.

I'm afraid that's all I have space for.

THE FULL ENGLISH (7)

2011-04-17T01:30:00.001+01:00

My dear Mum, rest her soul, wouldn't hurt a fly. I had my wicked moments as a child and was a real test of her parenting skills and yet I cannot remember her ever hitting or slapping me which of course was commonplace when reprimanding children in those days way back when Adam and Eve were toddlers.

However threats were another matter entirely. When I was sent on an errand for instance, in order to ensure my close attention to the matter in hand and my prompt return having accomplished the mission, all manner of hellfire and brimstone would apparently fall on my head if I failed in the task.

Her favourite and most frequently used threat was to disembowel me and make practical use of what she discovered within. A good example of this would be 'If you're not back by 10 o'clock I'll have your guts for garters'.

It seems that the first reference to 'guts for garters' appeared in Robert Greene's The Scottish Historie of James the Fourth, which was written around 1592:

"Ile make garters of thy guttes, Thou villaine."

I'm pleased to report that my intestines are not only complete but are also in reasonable worki
ng order.

ROCK AND ROLL IS GOOD FOR YOUR SOLE

2011-04-13T01:25:00.000+01:00

Whatever your mental image of me might be as I sit here tapping at the keyboard for your benefit, please add a pair of sunglasses to it. You see, I'm feeling pretty cool.

Yesterday I bought my first pair of MBTs. This stands for 'Masai Barefoot Technology' for it was apparently watching Masai tribe people walking that gave them the bright idea that the sole of our shoe should be curved so that we feel unstable and have to work our muscles constantly - that's a good thing.

My brain being what it is, I keep telling people that I just bought a pair of MTBs which of course are Motor Torpedo Boats. Come to think of it, owning those would be pretty cool too.

So now, when I'm standing still, I'm not. I'm actually rocking gently back and forwards like a drunkard. In fact, I'm swaying like a big, burly, tall drunkard which has the added bonus that people seem to give me plenty of space.

When I'm walking, my foot now rolls from back to front so if I'm not rocking I'm rolling. Of course, my rock and roll days never ended. I can do Granddad dancing as well as anyone.

Which gives me an idea. I wonder if MBT make Granddad slippers?

TOUCHY FEELY

2011-04-10T03:27:00.001+01:00

This poignant image by Luigi Diamanti represents the opposites of love and hate.

Somewhere in the world a baby just cried but somewhere else a baby laughed.

Someone died at the same time as a birth occurred elsewhere.

There are many wars taking place and someone just got killed in one while a surgeon saved another person's life across the globe.

As enemies curse each other there are places where lovers woo.

Dead leaves fall from a tree in the Autumnal part of the world as new buds open where Spring is in the air.

In the wild, a dead animal is a tasty meal to another creature.

As a bird falls from its perch an egg is hatching in another place.

For most negatives there are positives. The world is populated by pessimists for whom the glass is half empty and optimists like myself, who see it as half full.

"A healthy attitude is contagious but don’t wait to catch it from others. Be a carrier."

I just touched you - you're 'it'.

EXCUSE MY FRENCH

2011-04-06T07:53:00.002+01:00

It may be possible that unlike me, you are not regular readers of the renowned diarist and historic Tweeter and blogger Samuel Pepys. If this is the case let me tell you that he was a naughty chap. Not only did he regularly fiddle with the maid when his wife was elsewhere, he also visited other ladies either because their husbands were out or because they were ladies of pleasure.

What is more, he wrote about it all in his diary which is how I come to know what he was up to. You might think that this was a little dangerous. What if his wife, whilst perhaps checking his pockets for loose change, happened upon said diaries and perused them?

Well our friend Samuel had a method for dealing with this possibility. He would write the naughty bits in French which his wife clearly didn't understand. An example should suffice.

"I by water to Westminster-hall and there did see Mrs. Lane, and de la, elle and I to a cabaret at the Cloche in the street du roy; and there, after some caresses, je l’ay foutee sous de la chaise deux times" the rough translation of 'je l'ay foutee' being 'had my wicked way with her - twice'.

Of course, the French were not our favourite continental neighbours since we were probably at war with them more often than not and this might explain why we used their language not only to conceal sexual transgressions as Pepys did but also for many other things which were dirty, rude or distasteful.

Toilets for instance were called 'garderobes' translating as 'guard your robes'. The word 'loo' had a similar origin having come from the cry of 'gardez l'eau' (look out for the water) as people jettisoned the contents of their chamber pots into the street below.

Well I for one, have always regarded French as the most beautiful language in the world. That being the case. I hereby apologise to our French amis for my ancestors' gross misuse of their words.

I also forgive them for calling us 'Rosbifs' (Roast Beefs), after all, they were only getting their own back for us calling them 'frogs'. But out of beef and frogs, I know which I prefer to see nestling next to the roast potatoes on my plate.

LEGGING IT

2011-04-03T02:52:00.001+01:00

Many years and a marriage or two ago, my waist measurement was 32 inches. My leg length was also 32 inches so were it possible, I could have used my leg as a belt.

In an effort to bolster the economy, my waist has expanded over the years and is now variable from one day to the next dependant largely on how much chocolate is in the cupboard. If the chocolate is in the cupboard I'm about 38 inches but if the chocolate is in me - well you get the idea.

In terms of trouser length, my legs are still 32 inches long. They were the same length yesterday. Experience tells me that they will probably be the same length tomorrow. So if I need a new pair of trousers I just go to the shop and search for 32 inch leg trousers right?

Wrong. As my male readers will know, some shops sell even length trousers 30, 32, 34, 36, 38 etc. whilst others sell theirs in 29, 31, 33, 35, 37, 39 inch lengths. This means that if I've picked the wrong shop, when the assistant asks what size trousers I would like my choice of reply is

a) I would like my trousers to be an inch too short please.

b) I would like my trousers to be an inch too long please.

c) I shall be going to a different shop which sells trousers in my size thank you.

Unsurprisingly, the clothing sector is currently struggling to make a profit. You could say that they are not well-trousered.

JOB LOT

2011-03-30T01:46:00.001+01:00

Recently completing the census form reminded my of the hours which I've spent looking at old census records to trace my ancestors.

Back in Victorian times there were only a few questions to answer which were basically your name, your age, your job and whether or not you were an imbecile.

Apparently in the last census, a number of people declared their religion as Jedi from the Star Wars series. They were joking of course but in Victorian times, declaring yourself to be Batman wouldn't have raised an eyebrow. It would simply mean that you were an aide to an army officer. Likewise, stating that you were Vulcan, (the Roman god of war), would inform the world that you were a blacksmith by trade.

There was a much wider range of occupations back in 1891 when the census was completed as listed here. Some of these sounded very strange. A Schrimpschonger for instance was someone who carved in bone or ivory. A Qwylwryghte was just a weird spelling for a wheelwright.

Some were not what they sounded like. A drummer for instance, was not an ancestor of Ringo Starr but was a travelling salesman. A streaker did not strip off and then do a runner but instead they stripped off a dead body to prepare them for burial. The bogie man didn't go around scaring small children but actually shoved wagons around by coal mines.

Then there were the just plain funny names. A knockknobbler was a dog catcher. What do you imagine a Badgy Fiddler was? I bet you didn't come up with him being a boy trumpeter in the military. How about a Slubber Doffer? I'l put you out of your misery. It was a person who removed bobbins from spindles on a loom.

I'll leave you with one to investigate. What was a Vaginarius? I can tell you that what he did had nothing to do with ladies bits.

HAVING THE ANSWER AT MY FINGERTIPS

2011-03-27T10:46:00.009+01:00

Perhaps foolishly, I pride myself on having a modicum of intelligence. I mean I can do a 'fiendish' Sudoku. I can speak a foreign language. I know which side my bread is buttered.

As a child, I started out well. I passed the '11 plus' exam at the age of 10 thus giving my mother bragging rights in our little corner of the world. "He takes after me you know" was a common phrase as she poured out the tea for our guests.

The truth is that I probably did. She was a clever woman with a lively mind and a quick turn of wit. I enjoyed her praise and loved to impress her. She was very proud of my intellect and was therefore very disappointed when it failed me as was the case one time when I had a very nasty cold and cough.

Our tried and tested remedy for a chesty cold and cough was 'Vicks vapour rub'. It came in a blue jar and had that menthol 'if this doesn't cure you nothing will' sort of smell. Mum taught me to rub it on my chest, especially before bedtime and this would usually mean that I would wake up with my sinuses as clear as a bell.

If my nose was especially bunged up there was another method of application. Mum told me to lightly dip the little finger of my right hand into the jar and then wipe the gel into my right nostril. Then she explained that I must now use the little finger on my left hand to perform the same function for my left nostril.

"Do you know why it is so important to use a different finger for the second nostril?" she asked. Here was my chance to shine, to prove that I was my Mother's son. The chance to show her that all her nurturing efforts had not been in vain. I thought hard and "Eureka" the penny dropped. "So that you don't carry the infection from one nostril to the other" I proudly replied.

She sighed heavily with obvious disappointment. "No, it's so that you don't put your snotty little finger back into the jar which we all use".

That was the day when I learned that common sense beats intelligence every time.

SHADES OF OPINION

2011-03-23T12:37:00.006Z

Let's face it, committees have had a very bad press. They are also the butt of a great many jokes. A couple of examples should suffice.

'A camel is a horse which was designed by a committee' (Sir Alec Issigonis).

'A committee is an animal with four back legs' (Anon).

I once found myself in the position of chairing a committee no doubt because I had done something very wicked in a previous incarnation. One of our tasks was to oversee the redecoration of our bridge club.

Having learned the word 'delegation' when I was about three years old, I immediately organised a sub-committee to handle the issue of choosing the colour to paint the walls. They reported back in due course to say that they had selected a shortlist of four colours but felt that this issue was of such import that the entire membership should vote on it.

The four colours were daubed side by side on a wall and voting forms were placed nearby. Everyone made their choice and at the next committee meeting, we counted the votes for the four shades. Two of the colours, received 5% of votes between them and the other two which were quite similar, at least in my eyes, received 48% and 47% respectively.

The voting was so close that the committee were reluctant to disappoint the 47% of members who had lost out so narrowly and so it was decided that the two colours, being so similar, would be mixed together and the resulting hue would then become our new wall colour.

You will not have failed to notice dear reader, that this meant that no-one at all had voted for the colour which soon surrounded the members as they sat playing bridge, seemingly unaware that their opinions had been (paint) brushed aside.

THE FULL ENGLISH (6)

2011-03-19T21:32:00.009Z

I remember a time when I was small and the world was very big. I was feeling hungry and opened one of Mum's cupboards in search of something to fill the void. What I discovered was a huge hoard of tins. On closer inspection, they were revealed to be of just two types, spam and curried baked beans.

These were very familiar to me as the key ingredients of my mother's 'signature dish' which we commonly referred to as Letts' Lash-Up. This item was always cooked in a huge pan and contained a large quantity of the aforesaid spam and curried beans with the addition of an ever-changing list of other ingredients playing a supporting role.

My mother, bless her, had a great many endearing qualities and was skilled in multifarious tasks none of which included cooking. As we sat expectantly at the dinner table and she carried steaming plates of lash-up towards us this was always a time of great mirth. My father would offer something like "Oh I do enjoy these regular voyages of culinary discovery". During the meal my brother and I would, while chomping, come out with such gems as "So that's what happened to that cricket ball we lost".

My Mum always put up with it all with good humour and would often retort "Sometimes, I feel I'm casting my pearls before swine". The meaning of the phrase is self-evident but since my Mother didn't have a religious bone in her body, I was somewhat surprised to find it to be biblical (Matthew 7-6 "Nether caste ye youre pearles before swyne"). It is perhaps less surprising that Letts' Lash-up might have existed almost 2000 years ago.

INFAMOUS LAST WORDS

2011-03-16T03:33:00.001Z

It would be nice to think that just before meeting our maker, we could summon our last remnants of invention and utter a witty or whimsical remark by which we might be remembered. Sadly, the muse deserted Pancho Villa, the Mexican revolutionary, for his dying remark was "Don't let it end like this. Tell them I said something." I think he was hoping for a little more than a verbatim reporting of these words.

In reality then, it might be best to follow in the Blue Peter tradition of 'Here's a deathbed speech which I prepared earlier'. However, a

word of warning is in order. Do not copy someone else's witty demise as Groucho Marx did when on expiring in 1977 he said "Die, my dear? Why that's the last thing I'll do!" which a little research has shown to be the actual deathbed words of Henry Palmerston over a hundred years before in 1856. Perhaps Groucho felt that the copyright must have expired by then.

Of course, the circumstances of your impending death may well have a bearing on your choice of phrase. Imagine if you will that you are standing in front of a firing squad and are given the floor for your final speech. A certain Joe Hill of Utah found himself thus situated back in 1915 and shouted "Fire!" which promptly brought down the final curtain. James Rodgers, also facing a firing squad was asked if he had any last requests. "Why yes, a bulletproof vest!" he exclaimed - a request which was denied him.

Staying with the execution theme, a convicted murderer named James French when about to take a seat in the electric chair shouted out to the assembled news reporters "Hey, fellas! How about this for a headline for tomorrow’s paper? ‘French Fries’!"

Of course there have been some sad souls who when about to die, seized the opportunity to make their last big mistake. For instance, you would be well advised not to copy Gaius Caligula who, critical of his own guards to the last, pointed out their shoddy workmanship when having attempted to assassinate him, the Emperor shouted "I am still alive!" The error was soon corrected.

Terry Kath, who co-founded the rock band Chicago, managed the immortal phrase "Don't worry, it's not loaded" as he 'pretended' to shoot himself in the head. General John Sedgwick, a Union commander during the Civil War made a similar error of judgement when sticking his head above the parapet as he said "They couldn't hit an elephant at this dist. . . ."

I certainly plan to have something memorable to say when I proceed to checkout. No sense in rushing things though. I intend to write it the day before I die.

UNDER THE COUNTER

2011-03-13T02:45:00.001Z

"Daddy?

"Yes Jenny."

"Why is that shop empty?"

"Oh, it's probably because of the financial recession. Lots of shops are closing down".

"No, it's open and people are buying stuff but the shelves are all empty."

"Oh right, well then it's restricted sales. It's stuff which is put out of sight because the government says so - like pornography for instance".

"Daddy?...What's a 'tobacconist'?"

"It's a shop that sells cigarettes and tobacco."

"Well that's what that empty shop was."

"Oh yes, well smoking is very bad for you so the government want all tobacco products put out of sight of children. That's what I meant by 'restricted sales'."

"Daddy?...What's 'pornography'?"

"It's pictures of ladies boobies. Pornography magazines are put on the very top shelf in shops."

"Is that so you don't have to bend down to see them in case you hurt your back, Daddy?"

"No, it's so they are out of sight of little girls like you."

"Well when I grow up I don't want to ever smoke cigarettes."

"I'm very glad to hear that Jenny."

"...and I certainly shan't be growing any boobies."

THE FULL ENGLISH (5)

2011-03-09T01:03:00.001Z

I was in Sweden back in 1967 when they made the change from driving on the left of the road to driving on the right. It was very impressively handled. All the new road signs were already in place but covered over and at the appointed hour of 4 a.m. on September 15th, the covers were whipped off and after an initially massive traffic jam everyone just adjusted.

Such a huge shift in motoring rules carried many more implications than just the road signs of course. Over a period of years, the Swedes had to gradually change over to cars with the steering wheel on the left instead of the right. There was also a massive program of repainting needed to alter the white lines and arrows on their 70,000 miles of roads.

I believe that we Brits have decided that the whole task is just too daunting, not to say expensive and so it is very unlikely that we shall ever change sides here.

However, we proved that we were just as capable as the Swedes in making major changes just a few years later when we dispensed with the shillings and sixpences which were so familiar to everyone in favour of 'new pence'. After a few years the 'new' was dropped along with pennies. Indeed our natural laziness soon had us calling pence simply 'p'.

I soon adapted of course, as did everyone else, but I still have happy memories of those lovely old coins such as the farthing and the thrupenny-bit. There was no ninepenny coin of course, though a few centuries ago such a coin did exist.

This made it all the harder for me to understand what on earth my parents were talking about when they said that something (or somebody) was 'as right as ninepence' .

I now discover that the saying has nothing to do with coinage at all but everything to do with the game 'ninepins' or skittles. When the nine pins are set up in readiness, they have to be placed exactly right in terms of spacing just as the modern bowling pins are which is why those are set up by a machine. So the phrase is essentially a mis-hearing of 'as right as ninepins'.

Finally, after all these years, the penny has dropped.

CAREERS MISGUIDANCE

2011-03-06T03:23:00.002Z

You may recall (but it's far more likely that you won't), a previous piece which went by the name of "To school, perchance to dream", in which I reported on the Glasgow school which was giving its pupils lessons in how to sleep. I was rather predictably bemoaning the fact that the schools which I attended were not so far-sighted and tended to teach the three 'R's rather than the 'zzz'.

I have thought further on this since and it occurs to me that the exams for those sleep lessons must surely be rather difficult to invigilate. "Wake up at the back there" presumably becomes "Go to sleep at the back there". Also, the invigilators must ask themselves 'Are they really asleep or are they faking it?'

The latest news item which comes close to this theme is the report of a course which was established in 2004. It has just been scrapped and you may understand why as you read further.

The subject matter of the course was to do with the preparation of students for life after school. I can well imagine that in many cases it sought to assist those students whose chosen career path was to simply follow in their parents' footsteps in that it taught the students how to determine which unemployment and other benefits they might be entitled to and how to apply for them.

Once again, my own education was very narrow-minded in that it tended to dwell on the whimsical notion that I might be interested in that unusual concept of 'work' when I finished at school.