Recently by Ray Lewis
According to some ageist stick insects on a popular morning TV programme, older blokes are getting lazy and not attending to personal appearance as often as they should.
It's a pity Charles Darwin hadn't dedicated his time to working out the best evolutionary strategy for fending off old age.
I'm a PC and I'm a..."
This advert has been on the telly for a few weeks, and to be honest, I haven't a clue what it is about. Maybe it should read:
"Am I a PC? And I'm a..."
Man is an inventive species. Since the day he began to walk upright, he has overcome almost every challenge laid before him. From Caveman to Astronaut, his ability to solve problems has been spectacular.
Balfour hospital in Kirkwall, on the islands of Orkney - just above Scotland, doesn't make the news very often, but it made Sky News this week because Iain White works there.
I stopped smoking recently to avoid the attentions of Mr G. Reaper, and no longer breathe like Darth Vader when performing a simple task like lifting my knife and fork. This would normally be a good thing, but suppressing nicotine cravings requires a large intake of food and I now lift them twice as often.
In the good old days we used to enjoy Christmas. It began not long after we stepped from the plane with a straw donkey and a suitcase full of cheap fags, and really got into full swing just after we lit our last sparkler.
I was in my loft the other day and found a half drunk cup of tea. I hadn't been in there for almost three months. I have since found a glass half full of wine behind the rubber plant in the bathroom and on Sunday morning, the normally bustling bird table in my garden was silent and almost deserted.
I was made redundant a while ago and have since learned that whilst unemployment doesn't open many doors, it certainly opens your eyes. Last week I was standing in line waiting to sign on when 6 feet 6 inches of Tattoo walked through the door and muscled its way to the front of the queue.
The wise and sensible among us spend Sunday mornings in bed reading the papers and Sunday afternoons following the tyre tracks of Eddy Eats and She Who Must Be Fed. The foolhardy, which includes me, spend Sundays under cars, up ladders, or visiting D.I.Y. stores.
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