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Chester J Chadwick

Chester J Chadwick

Too much twiddling gave me away

POWER to the people. Well, to some of us, anyway.

Sound advice from the casino sweeper

I SHOULD have been there, but in the end couldn't be bothered.

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Trouserless trauma on Oxford Street

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.

Masterful use of the Saxo defence

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.

A good cause for which to drop my Daks

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.

Consoling cats for the Third Reich

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.

Roundy round is great to nod off to

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.

Cutting a dash with my new 'tache

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.

Not so suave since I patted an ostrich

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.

Even the dead would die for my 'tache

"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.

Facing up to an identity crisis

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.

Sorry, America, the buck stops here

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?

Colonial pals see things differently

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.

Dear Diary, nothing much happened

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.

Being arrested shouldn't be this hard

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.

You've either got or you haven't got style

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.

Whatever became of fly snowploughs?

MOTORISTS of my generation, usually identified courtesy of their sports jackets, twirling bow ties and goofy expressions, were among the very first techies.

On seeking a place amongst Them

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.

Spare an honour for a stout citizen

The Rt Hon Tony Blair, MP, PM, KGB, Fettes College and Sparkling Teeth

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