Maurice

We need a laugh this month. My friend, Stuart Lavis, sent me a video of Scottish poet, Walter McCorriscen, who won the “Worst Poet of the Year” award in 1979: Dear Sir, Never bite your fingernails It makes your fingers lumpy Never bite your fingernails Your sincerely, Stumpy. Walter was pure genius! But humour can

If you travel roads near where I live before 8am, you’ll encounter a blonde vision. The colour of her hair through the winter grey lifts the morning; the silhouette of her good posture etches her figure as she gets closer. Her partner walks beside her pushing his bike, a fine-looking young man. We’ve swapped “good

I live in a cottage that was the epicentre for Swindon’s cobblers, back in the days. My father used to repair our shoes when we were kids so I had hopes that the cottage would have the sweet smell of leather and stitching and polish and that I may even hear the haunted sound of

I love it when there’s a bit of colourful distraction on a Hash. Kathy led the way with her exquisite summer clothing, Anne looked well in two-tone and a fetching hat and Kay stood out in a pink top with matching grey. In fact I could fill the mag with detail on all the women

My friend, Brian, is in the terminal cancer zone but he is handling it well. Recently his family chipped together and bought him a wheelchair made from the latest lightweight material. You could lift it with a finger. He is so agile now he is talking of upper-body strength. Last week he texted the family

I spent the last weeks above the Arctic Circle in Greenland. The attraction was the Polar Marathon followed next day by a Half-Marathon with only 135 runners. It was challenging: running on the Ice Cap and through the Arctic Desert at -10 plus the wind chill, totally alone for most of the race with the