grumpyf1

Good things come to those who wait. And I had to wait more that 30 years to catch a musical hero doing his thing live. Was it worth it? Some time in the early 1980s, me and a couple of friends had cycled into the slightly rough end of a nearby town, and were zipping around a block of garages in a high-speed game of “tag” – we didn’t have mobile phones then, so we had to find other ways of entertaining ourselves. Around a corner was a vandalised car. Some cassette tapes were scattered around on the ground, shiny-brown contents blowing around like synthetic grass, broken free of their cases by cruel stamping. One of them was pretty much intact, with just a few feet of tape flapping in the breeze. On it was a swirly logo consisting of three letters: ELO. I sort of knew ELO – I’d heard their late 70s stuff as I started getting interested in music. The album was “Time”, and – dexterous use of a screwdriver, Stanley knife and slivers of sticky tape later - I had a working cassette,

This is my 200th column for this paper. According to a survey I took this week, I’m unlikely to reach 201... Sat at my desk in the office at lunchtime recently, I saw a Tweet from the BBC with a link asking me “How does your lifestyle affect the age of your body?” and a link to an online test to help me discover the age of mine. I know the age of my body. I have a birth certificate to prove it. Still, I’d been out for a brisk 6 mile walk just days before, and was consuming my healthy lunchtime salad, followed by an apple and some fromage frais. So I felt comfortable that I’d get a result suggesting that my body, if not quite a temple, was at least a well-preserved place of interest, and definitely not a condemned building with severe structural problems. Ten minutes of clicking later, I was in for a nasty surprise. It seems the bulldozers of doom will be here to demolish my dangerous abode at any moment. I’ve not even been cluttering up the planet for half a century yet, and

Or "A biased, misleading, selection of facts supplied with the intention  of persuading you to vote against staying in the EU, whilst  deliberately attempting to look like a neutral document by  making it hard to figure out who supplied it".  Not as catchy, obviously. Yes, those are my slippers. Do you know what makes my blood pump fast? My heart, yes... but what else? Leaflet-based Referendum subterfuge. Obviously. Once upon a time, our letterbox used to get lovely things shoved through it. Like postcards, letters from a favourite Auntie, and newspapers. Now it seems to be predominantly leaflets. Leaflets telling me what fabulous 2 for 1 offers are available at my local convenience store. Leaflets for double glazing. Leaflets for miracle garden fences that don’t need treating for 25 year (I did read that one). And charity collection bags. Mostly, the leaflet are an irrelevant irritation, and, if I filled every charity bag, I’d be ripping up the carpets by now, so m

Ever wondered what happens to caravans when they are no longer needed? No – me neither. But I think I’ve got the answer anyway... What happens to caravans when they become surplus to requirements? Perhaps they lost their off-white shine when a newer version arrived with a shower you could actually turn round in. Or maybe the tiny fridge and inadequate heating just become too much for their owners to endure any longer. That business with having to turn the table into the base for a bed always seemed hard work for an uncomfortable night’s sleep, too. We’ve all seen scrap yards, piled high with cars that have literally reached the end of their journey, but there doesn’t seem to be an equivalent for the light beige boxes on wheels when they lose their plots. Where are the caravan graveyards? What happens to the Elites, Rangers, Crusaders, Challengers and all those other ridiculously named mobile-dwellings when they are no longer needed, either to stay in, or to clog up A-roads on B