I’VE been feeling my age of late (Bus Pass plus One, since you ask). I’ve had two hospital appointments already this week and I took a funny turn in the village shop.
Not that there was anything wrong with me. Two different symptoms checked out by two different specialists produced two clean bills of health. And the funny turn? Just low blood sugar, according to kindly shop assistant Margaret Mole, for which she prescribed sweet coffee with a Kit Kat. And wouldn’t take a penny for them.
“Medical emergency,” she assured me. “We never charge for emergencies.” Hmmm, must remember that when I start to need Viagra.
Talking of which reminds me of my junior reporter days when I interviewed a couple celebrating their diamond wedding anniversary.
“What keeps you so young?” this earnest youth asked the spritely couple.
“Regular sex,” said the old man, with a twinkle in his eye. “Nearly every day of the week.”
“Wow! Nearly every day?” I gasped, hugely impressed.
“Yes,” said the old rogue with a wink. “Nearly on Monday, nearly on Tuesday, nearly on . . .”
And there’s another thing: women, especially young ones, have begun offering me their seats on the bus. They even talk to me. When I was young the only female company I ever encountered had white hair and needed helping across the road.
What else tells me my clock is ticking? Well, to my once cheerful “See you later!” I’ve started adding an ominous “. . . if I’m spared”. When driving I no longer need to watch the speedometer; my eyes are glued, instead, to the onboard computer’s fuel economy meter.
The other day I was overtaken by a Lambretta rider. In a headwind!
MY concerns for our non-existent country post offices and declining Royal Mail standards were hardly helped by the news that, not for the first time, one of the so-called ‘replacement services’ – a twice-a-week, two-hour temporary counter open in the old chapel at Scots Gap – was “closed due to computer failure”.
Once more, disgruntled users had to make the trek to Kirkwhelpington – and a shop where at least the post office is still graced by the friendly face of sub-postmistress Eileen Rogerson – as a result of Post Office Counters’ crazy cost savings
And thank-you, Royal Mail, for finally delivering DVD film clips and my presenter’s script from a foreign TV production company for whom I was to make a TV documentary.
We filmed the documentary exactly one month ago; it will be screened this weekend. The package was posted first class on October 14; it arrived . . . yesterday.
Pony express? Our Royal Mail has become the Royal Mule!
CHAMPAGNE Socialists of the world unite! Over dinner the other evening the Sisterhood – Gilly the Radical and Susan the Luddite – were cackling about a friend of a similar age and political tendency who stomped into her bank determined to bring down the global financial system.
“I want to withdraw ALL my savings,” she demanded. “And I want the money in cash. NOW!”
“Certainly, madam,” said the unperturbed capitalist bank clerk. “But for such a large transaction you will need to be able to identify yourself.”
“No problem,” announced Comrade Customer, rummaging in her handbag and pulling out an old-fashioned face powder compact.
“Yes,” she said, after a moment staring hard into the mirror. “That’s definitely me!”
I PAY my council rates to have my rubbish removed, the potholes in our pavements repaired (Crookham’s are a disgrace!), our children educated and our old people cared for.
What I DON’T want from Northumberland County Council is a 32-page, glossy, full-colour monthly propaganda magazine which threatens the existence of local independent media while providing only extra pulp for the recycling plants.
Question: how many people and how many pounds are we wasting on producing and distributing 144,000 copies a month for the recyclers?
Not that there was anything wrong with me. Two different symptoms checked out by two different specialists produced two clean bills of health. And the funny turn? Just low blood sugar, according to kindly shop assistant Margaret Mole, for which she prescribed sweet coffee with a Kit Kat. And wouldn’t take a penny for them.
“Medical emergency,” she assured me. “We never charge for emergencies.” Hmmm, must remember that when I start to need Viagra.
Talking of which reminds me of my junior reporter days when I interviewed a couple celebrating their diamond wedding anniversary.
“What keeps you so young?” this earnest youth asked the spritely couple.
“Regular sex,” said the old man, with a twinkle in his eye. “Nearly every day of the week.”
“Wow! Nearly every day?” I gasped, hugely impressed.
“Yes,” said the old rogue with a wink. “Nearly on Monday, nearly on Tuesday, nearly on . . .”
And there’s another thing: women, especially young ones, have begun offering me their seats on the bus. They even talk to me. When I was young the only female company I ever encountered had white hair and needed helping across the road.
What else tells me my clock is ticking? Well, to my once cheerful “See you later!” I’ve started adding an ominous “. . . if I’m spared”. When driving I no longer need to watch the speedometer; my eyes are glued, instead, to the onboard computer’s fuel economy meter.
The other day I was overtaken by a Lambretta rider. In a headwind!
MY concerns for our non-existent country post offices and declining Royal Mail standards were hardly helped by the news that, not for the first time, one of the so-called ‘replacement services’ – a twice-a-week, two-hour temporary counter open in the old chapel at Scots Gap – was “closed due to computer failure”.
Once more, disgruntled users had to make the trek to Kirkwhelpington – and a shop where at least the post office is still graced by the friendly face of sub-postmistress Eileen Rogerson – as a result of Post Office Counters’ crazy cost savings
And thank-you, Royal Mail, for finally delivering DVD film clips and my presenter’s script from a foreign TV production company for whom I was to make a TV documentary.
We filmed the documentary exactly one month ago; it will be screened this weekend. The package was posted first class on October 14; it arrived . . . yesterday.
Pony express? Our Royal Mail has become the Royal Mule!
CHAMPAGNE Socialists of the world unite! Over dinner the other evening the Sisterhood – Gilly the Radical and Susan the Luddite – were cackling about a friend of a similar age and political tendency who stomped into her bank determined to bring down the global financial system.
“I want to withdraw ALL my savings,” she demanded. “And I want the money in cash. NOW!”
“Certainly, madam,” said the unperturbed capitalist bank clerk. “But for such a large transaction you will need to be able to identify yourself.”
“No problem,” announced Comrade Customer, rummaging in her handbag and pulling out an old-fashioned face powder compact.
“Yes,” she said, after a moment staring hard into the mirror. “That’s definitely me!”
I PAY my council rates to have my rubbish removed, the potholes in our pavements repaired (Crookham’s are a disgrace!), our children educated and our old people cared for.
What I DON’T want from Northumberland County Council is a 32-page, glossy, full-colour monthly propaganda magazine which threatens the existence of local independent media while providing only extra pulp for the recycling plants.
Question: how many people and how many pounds are we wasting on producing and distributing 144,000 copies a month for the recyclers?
First published in The Journal, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, November 27, 2009
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