The confession of a cunning old fart by Trevor Plumbly
Culpa! Mea? This aging biz isn’t turning out to be the doddle I thought it would be; there’s lots of stuff to adjust to. The nights of six pints of lager and a curry have been replaced by a glass of wine, rabbit food and easy access to the toilets. It does, however, have some compensations: the old standby ‘he’s getting on a bit’ allows me to avoid inconvenient disruptions to my routine by resigned martyrdom rather than open defiance and as a result I’ve mastered a strained patient grimace along with… Read More
It’s Not My Bloody Fault! By Trevor Plumbly
She’s Got Her Troubles I’m getting a bit wary about having a pint with Emily; all sorts of dire stuff seems to befall her afterwards. One time she ended up half dead and hints at my involvement: what the bloody hell does she expect when she leaves the pub and goes on to cram her pudding chute with tofu. I’ve tried to explain to the girl my mother’s wisdom that there’s a difference between scratching your bum and tearing yourself to pieces, but it just doesn’t sink in. Anyway, I’ve got my… Read More
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