Nice to see you...

...to see you nice. Is probably what Gordon Brown didn't say when he invited Bruce Forsyth, among others, to dine at Chequers last year.

The fabulously-named Lee Benedictus pondered in the Guardian earlier this month what it would be like if Brucie was appointed secretary of state for work and pensions.
Does it seem so far fetched following Srrralan's promotion to the House of Lords?

DFS tube advert

Purrsuasion

Next weekend I'll be moving from my home to someone else's. I only met this person today, but they're very kindly letting me and one other move into their flat while they go to Spain for a month.

The selling point of this short-term accommodation deal was their ickle puddy cat, who followed us around during the viewing purring away as felines do.

A punctured head

Never in my short but colourful life have I taken a photo of a bird of prey. Nevermind a buzzard. But how I wish I had.

This evening I am sparing a thought for plasterer Paul Powell, who hails from my second-favourite place in the world: Gloucestershire.

Ghost in the hallway: MJ is back

It occurred to me earlier today that too many of my blogs have taken a cheery little look at getting old and the inevitability of death. Well, here we go again - for the last time, promise. I'll also be using the subject of Michael Jackson [how many times - not the ex-Cheltenham town player, the King of Pop] once more.

In a quite remarkable development, MJ's ghost has decided to appear in one of Neverland's hallways - just as a CNN TV crew is exploring the building.

Tick-tock

This chap is literally watching the passage of time. Us humans are obsessed with clocks, watches and other more contemporary time-keeping devices which, alas, this fellow will never see.

Time reminds us of our own mortality. That each one of us is... tick-tock... getting older by the second. Many have dreamed of living forever, or least extending their lives by a few years.

We're not bottom anymore

English tourists strike fear into thousands of Spanish, Italians and Greeks each year. Just look at them. No, not them - for all I know, they might be your parents. 'Them' - go on, use your imagination.

I bring good news fellow Englishmen and women. While the football shirts, tattoos and beer bellies are embarrassing for the rest of us, there is no longer any need to worry.
This is because our rivals across La Manche are officially the world's worst tourists.

Am I cracking up...

...or just getting older? Or so Noel Gallagher once pondered. He may well have been cracking up at the time, but Oasis are still 'cracking out' some 'great tunes'. So, by process of elimination, I conclude that, like the rest of us, he is merely getting older.

Interesting fact alert: did you know that more than half of retirees in this country have retired parents?

Rushy Bay beach huts: Bryher, Isles of Scilly

Beach huts are fantastic. So fantastic, in fact, that I built half of this one a whole year ago - and it's still standing. 

Alas, mine is quite rudimentary.