CAN someone tell me why it is that, no matter when you turn the TV on, day or night, late or early, it’s always The Bill that’s on? It might be a preview, it might be the real thing (I wouldn’t know, I never leave it on long enough to find out) but without exception I find myself gazing at a bunch of unlikely British bobbies who are almost as bad at policing as they are at acting. Is this one of those false phenomena, like when you buy a Volkswagon and suddenly every car on the road seems to be a Volkswagon? But I don’t mean to suggest I like…

OH God. I am doing my tax. Actually, I’m staring at my tax. My brain went numb when I looked at it last year; consequently I am a year behind with my tax return and I shall soon be in prison, where I’m told life is much simpler. True, you’d founder eventually on the prime-cost or base-value method of depreciating your assets, but at least you were safe on a page where the choices were Mr, Mrs, Miss or Ms. Etax offers a choice of 117 titles. Everything from Abbot to Wing Commander. There’s even a space for Swami, which is reassuring because I imagined that bearded hippies in nighties probably…

WHERE do birds go when they die? We know there’s a lot of them, and we can assume they’re not increasing in numbers at any great rate or we’d notice, so presumably – they die. Why aren’t we at risk of being impaled on one when it drops out of the sky, or off a lamppost? Or is there a bird graveyard somewhere? Maybe they simply fly off to heaven or — in the case of the more sinful species — nosedive straight through the ground and keep straight on to the other place. I mean, you never see dead birds. Okay, the occasional pile of bedraggled feathers turns up…

I USED to have a cute but frustrating habit. I always left the toothpaste tube lying on the side of the washbasin instead of returning it to the toothbrush mug. That was 29 years ago. Friends would come round; newly married couples who would swap notes. This one always said “pardon” automatically, even when it was clear he’d heard every word. That one would jingle the change in his pocket. “He’s so cute,” said my wife when it came my turn, “he never puts the toothpaste back… always off in a dream somewhere. It’s so frustrating!” She squeezed my hand and smiled when she said it. That night, after everyone…

IT was bound to happen, sooner or later. My wife has walked in on our daughter and her boyfriend. Doing… it. Not a boyfriend at all, really. More of a partner. I suppose that makes it more respectable. Unless, of course, you’re the one who has just opened the door and come face to face with a hairy backside. Then respectability is not the issue. Shock and embarrassment are much higher up the league table of emotional reaction than anything to do with respectability. To be fair, she couldn’t actually identify either of them. There was always the possibility two complete strangers had invaded our granny flat, where this was…