It hit me half way down the M11 scything through the rain like Cap’n Ahab in a New Beatle, the world has grown up – and not in a good way. Many men know the drill, you’re forced down the aisle being held at gunpoint by your own loins, she’s a “top babe” or at least a fair approximation after three snakebites. The next twenty five years disappear raising a family, buying a house, declaring undying love to a nebulous shape by the kitchen sink etc. and the lack of sex isn’t a problem as drink is banned and the spirit of her mother (that you failed to notice lurking behind her eyes) has emerged fully fledged into this world complete with a broom and many interesting recipes involving “eye of newt”. Then, the kids leave and you think “ah, I’d like a little sports car”, er, no! “You’re 56, grow up!” is the general response. Many guys just knuckle down to the greyness, the sensible ones find themselves a nurse in her mid thirties for a few fleeting moments of fun before their loins reach for that gun the cycle starts again.

The world seems to have gone that way, rules, both formal and social, seem to hold sway. A “grown up” consensus has been forced on us like a linguistic strait jacket.

The good news is that it’s only our little area that seems this way, as an example our police kill a plumber then lie about it and nothing happens, the Greek police kill a student and a swift reaction occurs. Thank God for Greek students showing that not all European countries are going the Burmese way!

For those of you wondering what Heaven looks like…

I’ve just driven down through the pi***ng rain from Mums place in Lincolnshire and like many people nowadays I let the robot do the navigating. I’m very pro the robots and look forward to my eighties when I will have a robot to clean my bottom that looks somewhat like Brittany Spears and when I am buried she/it will accompany me just as if I was a Pharaoh, but I digress. The problem with the rather more basic robot in the car is that it doesn’t sound like “the only woman I ever loved” (TOWIEL) or Kate Bush singing “Under the Ivy”. As I haven’t spoken to TOWIEL for around twenty years and as far as I know she is still married, I would suggest that Kate contacts me to apply for this prestigious post so I can kill two birds with one stone so to speak – or just a quick call to help me navigate the Polegate roundabout would be appreciated…