DREAM ON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.