There’s something about Star Wars that you either love, or think is sci-fi space twoddle of the lowest order.
The music format that won’t go away.
Achievement is life’s rainbow; it keeps moving.
Nothing says visiting relatives at Christmas quite like wheel-spinning out of a cul-de-sac at the crack of dawn heading for home.
“It’s Christmas!” people say, like it justifies the sort of taste-relapse last witnessed in a Las Vegas’ advertising board rejection pile
Swimmers are a bunch of self-satisfied wankers.
The single thing greater than a baby’s enthusiasm for early mornings is your own lack of it.
The sad clown clichés are never far away, and it is difficult to think of clowns without the implication of tragedy.
Increased awareness of energy consumption is a good thing.
Like booze, it’s hard to know with yoghurt if it’s celebratory or a consolation.
At least I have an on-line presence; I’m just unsure what to do with it.
It’s bliss, the chance to do whatever I like, which of course means being crippled by choice and doing nothing.
People may scoff, that littering is a minor social ill, it but it’s indicative of respect; for the environment, and for other people.
Having run out of activities since the last week of July, the sigh of relief at the new school term could be heard from space.
It is reassuring how much support children get these days for first day nerves, but it’s not my 4-year old that I’m worried about. It’s me.
Being alone does strange things to people. We are not built for it.