Chester J Chadwick
Chester J Chadwick
POWER to the people. Well, to some of us, anyway.
I SHOULD have been there, but in the end couldn't be bothered.
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I MUST admit I am fond of trousers. In fact, one of the greatest developments in the history of this planet must be the creation of the ubiquitous pair of Daks. Imagine old Mr Ug, sitting in his cave sometime in March something or other. The ice age is just about drawing to a close and the first bird tweets to be heard for thousands of years break the oppressive silence.
THIS week the powers that be had their knuckles well and truly rapped for spending lots of our money, as well as far too much time, in an attempt to prosecute a truck driver for alerting his fellow road users to the presence of a speed trap.
MARK my words: in three or four generations from now children will be born with Sony Ericssons attached to their ear lobes. Mobile phones are everywhere, so much so that even old codgers such as myself have got one.
I HAVE become a morning person. In fact I am in hiding, my reluctance to face the world being due to the fact that my new Salvador Dali moustache has gone awry.
THAT'S better. The roundy round series has finally got itself out of the deserts (where the audience is made up of 15,000 princes and several camels) and is now mixing it with real people. And people don't get much more real than our antipodean cousins. Yes, Aussies. Bruce and Sheila, with the ankle nippers and cardboard boxes full of Foster's tinnys and kangaroo sandwiches.
AS IF we didn't have sufficient motorised vehicles running around our streets, frightening cyclists with mushroom thingies on their heads, Audi is about to introduce yet another. This one is called the Q7 and the company has invited me to preview it at some castle or other in Devon, which is near Wales as I recall.
GOOD name for a car to be driven by the almost legendary Laughing Jack Carter. Hyundai's second generation, bulked up Santa Fe SUV broke cover in Valencia this week.
"I HAVE nothing to declare except my genius," old Fingal O'Flaherty (occasionally known as Mr Oscar Wilde, founder of the Taffeta Tutu Club) contemptuously remarked to a customs jobsworth on his arrival somewhere or other.
THE flight home from America went rather well. The waitresses on board our BA Boeing looked after me very well, even if they balked at my request that a nearby crying infant be rendered temporarily unconscious in order that I may catch forty winks. Apparently it is against airline policy to chastise or otherwise molest little people. Still, the compensatory drinks were much appreciated.
THAT was a decent trip. Three weeks in one of HM's former colonies and I have returned complete with the single dollar I possessed at the commencement of my odyssey. Cunning or what?
I NORMALLY have to ring Cletus immediately on arrival in Florida if I want to book an early tee time for our round of golf, but this month I managed to save on the phone call.
DIARY keeping was easier when you were a child. You could pen fantastic stories of dragons and pirates, make up stirring tales of Hamilton Academical winning the European Cup or - if you were a little older - make serious notes as to how to seduce Brenda Bright from the upper fourth. All it took was a diary, a Biro from Aunt Edith, and a little imagination.
HO HUM. This is really boring. Christmas used to be lots of fun, with every chance of collecting the old P45 for using the office photocopier to copy one's Antarctics, seducing the editor's wife or, even worse, his mistress and hopefully rounding things off by getting arrested.
IT'S that time of year again. Christmas parties and strange happenings around the photocopier. Add The Boy in tongue-lolling pursuit of anyone who looks remotely feminine and all the ingredients for disaster are in place.
MOTORISTS of my generation, usually identified courtesy of their sports jackets, twirling bow ties and goofy expressions, were among the very first techies.
AS THERE has been no reply from the PM with regard to my application for a snoozing berth in the Lords, I shall look elsewhere for recognition.
The Rt Hon Tony Blair, MP, PM, KGB, Fettes College and Sparkling Teeth