Please don’t give me a frank new book.

There are lots of things I don’t want. Frank new novel based on a cruel childhood followed by deeply disturbed adulthood with loads of substance abuse. The only substance I abused was jam sandwiches.

The Rolling Stones. Don’t wanna hear about them, thanks. 5 old geezers with more wrinkles than a ton of prunes… no thanks.

Am I the only person in the world to think that Paul McCartney should find himself a nice place and set himself up with a few good books and retire the singing. The recent battle against old age at Glastonbury was to me like listening to an old pub singer past his best, where they get that bit of an old warble going that meanders ever so slightly off key. Not fab. It’s all a bit “Kings New Clothes”, no one dared to tell him that he was past his sing by date.

Negativity. Let’s get rid of that. I suppose some might say that these three first paragraphs might be negative but they’re not. Really. One of my profile names is Mr Grumpy and I regret it. Mr Lookonthebrightside is what it should be of course, but it’s a tad long, at least it’s not Mr Grumbly. Some friends tell me I don’t look very cheery, it’s rarely the case, it’s to do with gravity, that is gravitational pull on my jowls not seriousness. I’m easily pleased. Cup of tea and a piece of toast is enough to lift my jowls. Northern tea, milk no sugar. Any old bread for the toast, even the white sliced, though that has a tendency to require additional slices. I blame Chorleywood look it up under methods of baking bread. Perhaps Mr Crusty might suit me, but that brings to mind unfortunate visual thoughts.

“People of my age who decry modern tech” Sod them. Get on board with it. I learnt how to fix a soft close lavatory seat by simply going on to google and then You Tube. Brilliant. If there is something you don’t understand then some bloke somewhere will have made a little video on how to fix it. It’s usually a bloke. I’m learning how to fix some dining chairs on it, come back in six months and will let you know if I landed on the floor.

Soft close lavatory seats? Ridiculous.

Taps. Been there already said that, they are just too complex these days. Did you know that instead of a plug you have to have something called a clicker clack closure system. 4 words instead of 1. Four times as likely to go wrong, in fact plugs do not go wrong they simply go missing. Not grumbling, just saying.

Women’s Football? Brilliant. So far none of that prima donna stuff you get from blokes, and I say blokes advisedly. Real men don’t eat quiche and blokes play football. I used to think that the goalkeepers let down women’s football but that is no longer the case, they too are simply brilliant. Positive enough for you? Even the commentators on the telly are better than the men. Men commentating on them sound a bit creepy and a bit “Alan Partridge”. Ah Haah.

Coffee. I’m talking the real stuff here. My son has a coffee bar in Sheffield, modest little place in Walkley. He’s obsessed with giving the good people of South Yorkshire good coffee and makes it to perfection. Naturally being Yorkshire not all of them appreciate it. Their praise being a little understated at times, as they suspect he is trying to extract their hard earned cash from their double locked wallets, which he is. Don’t mention instant, dirty word.

Geoffrey Boycott. I’ve boycotted him for many years. Cricket? Not keen, I could be mending a set of dining chairs. Much more rewarding. Geoffrey Boycott talking about cricket ( or anything ) : torture, reach for the off switch.

Radio comedy. Please don’t give me that sweary stuff, only Billy Connolly does it well. Old radio comedy on Radio 4 extra, no thanks. It does not age well. Grim. Undiscovered Hancocks, leave them undiscovered, it’s kinder. One radio gem that I can listen to again and again is Claire in the Community, go to the link and try it. Brilliantly written and acted. Great for a tea break, a long tea break. There are loads of them, and all funny.

I think that’s enough for now. Enjoy your week.

Here’s a random photo of lifeguards on a deserted Devon beach on a typical wet British Summer day, which at present seems to be a thing of the past.

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