Being Me

The main legacy from our two summer weeks in Whitby, Yorkshire, appears to be that we have swapped to a different make of toilet roll. It doesn't have the romanticism of the usual souvenir, I know: the photos of surfers, the sand sculpture, or the arrangement of shells in a picture frame, or a fisherman ornament. We've been faithful to Andrex toilet rolls ever since we married. In fact, 37 years on, I think Andrex should have sent us a thank you letter or at least a card. Alas, we have received nothing, not even a free two-pack. This is despite the fact that, having brought up a family of three, we've provided employment for at least a hundred puppies. We've stuck with Andrex through 2 ply and 3 ply, literally through thin and thick, and through different patterns and perforations over the years. You'd think it would count for something, like war service, or a lifetime career in the NHS. But, no. Then, in August, in the bathroom of our holiday apartment in W

A sparrowhawk visited our garden yesterday, perching on a garden chair for a minute to show itself off and play a game of who'll blink first with a sparrow. The sparrow made a hasty exit and the sparrowhawk flew off, meal-less. It's not surprising. If a sparrowhawk wants more success, it should rename itself Edward or Marmaduke, something that gives the sparrows no clue. With a name like Sparrowhawk, it might as well announce its approach with a megaphone and a big sign saying, 'Say your prayers, little sparrows. Here come my claws.' Hm ... perhaps Norman? Philip? Percy?  Imagine if humans did the same so that, instead of being called Colin or Jake, people who broke into others' houses were called Burglar or Thief, or those who attacked others on the streets and stole their phones were named Mugger or Pickpocket. It would make life so much easier and the police would be able to put their feet up and brew a cuppa. 'Oh hi. Welcome to the team here at