Unseasonal

Hello, dear readers!

Time flies when you’re having fun.

This isn’t an instruction. I don’t want you to get your stopwatch out in your next moments of enjoyment to see how quickly the common house-fly can cover 100 metres. It would seem fruit(fly)less.

No, I’m simply referring to the somewhat elastic nature of time. How on some dreary, rain-soaked Tuesday (The worst day of the week. Fight me) afternoon, an hour can last an eternity, while in the midst of a busy and enjoyable Friday eve, the same hour is gone in the blink of the proverbial.

It works on longer timescales, too, especially, I believe, as one gets older. Take this year, it’s flown by. I mean, one minute you’re making your New-Year resolutions and the next the year’s nearly over.

I mean, it is Christmas next week, isn’t it?

Fakin' Bacon

Hello, dear readers!

You are what you eat.

I think there’s certainly something to be for that particular old saw. If you eat lots of fatty things, then you do indeed have a tendency to become a tad fatty yourself (as can be attested by my own increasing reliance on sweatpants and their elasticated waistbands)

It doesn’t always follow, mind you. Eating a year’s supply of pic ‘n’ mix is unlikely to make you any sweeter, and last night’s carbonara is yet to turn me even just a little bit Italian.

It certainly won’t see me making a pig out of myself.

Sore Eyes

Hello, dear readers!

I think it’s no secret that I’m not quite as young as I used to be. This, of course, is true of every single person, every single minute, of every single day, and age will always be a relative subject. In my case, however, the term ‘middle-aged’ is fast becoming less of an insult and more of a reality.

It means that, increasingly, a few accommodations need to be made.

The latest of these submissions to time’s ravages involves my eyes, and the fact they don’t seem to work quite as well as they used to.

A Moving Story

Hello, dear readers!

They say it’s one of the most stressful things a person can do, and right now, I’m inclined to agree. Stressful, difficult, physically tiring, and as time-consuming as Eric the wristwatch eating pixie.

To what am I referring? Why, to the ancient ordeal that is moving house.

To be clear, the house in question is not ours. Neither myself, nor my wife, Tina have changed address. No, this particular relocation was undertaken on behalf of my mother-in-law, Gwen.

Try Try again

Hello, dear readers!

The game’s afoot!

Well, the games are anyway, although given the nature of these particular games, I’m not sure ‘afoot’ is the right way of putting it.

I am, of course, referring to the Paralympic games, and so far, what a games they have been.