Grumpy Old Git

On Monday I tried driving fast down a fast road in a fast car. This sort of summer driving should be fun. Get the old girl’s top off (I’m talking convertibles here, but you can imagine whatever you want,) stomp on the loud pedal and head for the open road. Alas, nothing but frustration awaits....

I had to buy a pair of scissors this week so I could trim the cat. My scissors came encased in an impenetrable cell of hard plastic that could only be breached by scissors. Three days later they are still taunting me from inside their impermeable plastic fortress, while the cat remains disgracefully unkempt. Somewhere...

I am old enough to remember the empty promise of the digital age, the big lie propagated by that young pup Gates and his cohorts, that technology would improve our lives. It’s the twenty-first century for God’s sake. By now we were all supposed to be relaxing at home being amused to death by our...

It has been suggested by some well-meaning but misguided acquaintances that I should join the Facebook. Why on earth would I want to do that?

'THEY DISPLAY LANGUAGE SKILLS SECOND ONLY TO THOSE OF THE COOKIE MONSTER' I have finally figured out why it is that team sports annoy me. I mean watching them, of course, participating being totally out of the question. (Many decades ago I was persuaded, against my better judgement, to try out for a high school...

Whilst browsing in the mall the other day I was once again reminded of my age, this time by my bladder. This is a moment I dread since it involves undergoing one of the most painful rituals of adult male life: The use of a public rest room. There is nothing restful about it. Ladies...

IT IS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE THAT MAC'S STORES ARE ACTUALLY THE MOTHER-SHIPS

I’ve been invited to a party. I don’t like parties. No one likes parties. Secretly we’d all rather be sitting quietly at home with a glass of Shiraz and Margaret Atwood. But instead we congregate in someone’s ugly kitchen and pretend we’re having fun. It won’t be fun. It will be hell. There will be...

This week I decided to take a mad leap into the twentieth century and buy a Radar Range, apparently now known as a 'microwave oven.' All I wanted was a machine to heat my porridge in the morning and my Ovaltine at bedtime. Put the mug in, turn the dial, hit 'Start' and presto, steamy...