You need a respite from my iPad, and I must make a tour d’horizon like some hopeful periscope swivelling and scanning the surroundings hopefully.
How casual our attitudes have become!
The neurologist was really apologetic; he had no idea how close he was to being hugged. I managed to resist whooping and look crestfallen.
I have never in my life had 13 different kinds of tea and coffee in the flat. I had no idea they even existed, let alone might find a lodging with me.
“Never despise rabbits in hats,” CS Lewis told my mother.
Recovering from a particularly nasty bout of ‘flu has been like negotiating the lower slopes of the Himalayas wearing large furry bedroom slippers.
He can always pull you out of a black dog mood, comfort you in one of life’s not infrequent sad moments with his fixed but genuine smile.
We aged ones have been called many things: dustys, crumblies, wrinklies, crinklies, old bats, etc. and many much ruder names I wouldn’t dream of typing. The scoffers forget that very likely they, too, will be an old trout one day.
Mull this over when you feel like throwing in the towel when you hit 85.
On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month the Armistice was signed to end the First World War, one-hundred years ago.